


The Underdogs

by blackwayfarers



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canada, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Hand Jobs, M/M, Winter, hockey players
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:59:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 49,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1752020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackwayfarers/pseuds/blackwayfarers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn Malik hates everything about winter. He hates the snow, he hates scraping the ice from his car, he hates freezing every time he steps outside, he hates wearing hats and heavy jackets. In fact, the only thing he doesn't hate about it are his hockey player buddies and his childhood best friend, Liam Payne, the teenage star hockey player and captain of their small town team.</p><p>An AU about boys learning how to deal with a terrible Canadian winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Underdogs

**Author's Note:**

> So many thanks to H. for her beta and answers to my millions of hockey questions, and K. for 90% of the inspiration for this fic.
> 
> Apologies to the Ontario Junior hockey system for completely making everything up about them.

The amount of noise a house full of victorious hockey players can make is amazing. Zayn has been friends with the team for a long time, but it never ceases to amaze him. 

Every minute there seems something new to cheer about, past victories and future games and goals they go over again and again, fingers dancing over the countertops as they relive each twist and turn. The rough and growling chant of the team name – _Sudbury Wolves, Sudbury Wolves_ – carries through everything like a holy chant, murmured with every song playing on the sound system and just waiting for another shot of vodka to emerge again and beat like the pulse of the party, the ground shaking as they jump up and down. 

Even though Zayn has absolutely nothing to do with those games or this hockey team – he's about as sporty as a sloth, as interested in ice and snow as he is in going to the dentist – but he raises his cup anyway and joins in with the rumble of excitement that quickly becomes an all out roar. It's taken a while but he's gotten better at not rolling his eyes or shaking his head as he does, matching the smiles he's given as he tries to find his place in the mess. 

It's not the first time that Zayn wonders how this all happened. He knows it started with Liam and his peewee league, too many years ago when Zayn was too young to know better, but it's still strange how easily he fell in with a group of jocks. Zayn never could have guessed that almost every Saturday evening of his senior year of high school would be spent in the same suburban bungalow (covered in fake wood paneling, shag carpets, and popcorn ceilings like the place is being deliberately preserved as some sort of shrine to the time when Gretzky was king) drinking liquor stolen from parents' cabinets and being welcomed into this crazy world. 

"You're not saying it loud enough," Louis says, pinching at Zayn's side and making him hop sideways away from him. "Come on, man." Louis' voice is heavy with beer, his hair sweaty and sticking to his forehead in locks like he's fresh from the showers. Louis watches Zayn with eyes bright from liquor, joking happily but with an earnestness beneath it all, like he's constantly trying to make Zayn have a good time.

"Louis –" Zayn says warningly even though he already knows that he will inevitably be dragged into whatever Louis wants him to do.

"For me, man," Louis says, batting his lashes a few times. "I got a fuckin' hat trick, man."

"I _know_ ," Zayn says, letting Louis shove in on his side again as long as there isn't any more tickling. "I was there, Lou."

"Well, I can't fucking hear you," Louis says, "and that's just not right, man. Not when we're toasting how great I am. You gotta shout." Louis smiles, and it's not a sarcastic winning smile, more like he actually wants Zayn to be sincere about this. "Shout for me, baby."

"You really do have to," Liam agrees warmly as he slips into the crowd of boys standing around the kitchen island. He's standing across from Louis and Zayn, nodding benevolently, always with that serious team captain way he is. "He's our star, huh?"

"Aww," Louis says, swiping at the air between them. "You noticed, Liam."

"Five points, you played great," Liam says, nodding thoughtfully. "I think we'll keep him, eh?" Liam asks cheerfully, turning to look at Zayn for agreement.

They've been friends for year but that doesn't stop Zayn from instantly smiling when he sees Liam in a crowd like this, an anchor even as the liquor in his blood starts to make Zayn float. He can't help himself, raising his glass in a quick salute that Liam returns, grinning at Zayn in a way that suddenly makes sense of this stupid party and this stupid sport.

Zayn groans but he lets Louis snake an arm around his waist, fingers clinging to a belt loop as he holds Zayn tight. With everyone's eyes on him, with Liam's eyes on him, Zayn breaks into a grin and knows what he has to do.

"All right, okay," Zayn says, clearing his voice while Louis taps a bottle opener against a wineglass, trying to get people to shut up. "Well, uh, to Louis, I guess," Zayn says, raising his cup again and almost wincing in anticipation of the shouts that follow it. "For being good at skating and hitting that rubber thing into the whatsit. The net. To how good Louis is at doing that, which is apparently very good."

"To Louis!" the team shouts, lifting their cups and crashing them together, beer spilling like frothing rain. Louis glows at the attention he demands, his cheeks burning like he's just come in out of the cold, thanking them all with quick, happy nods like he didn't just insist they toast him.

"Fucking right," Louis says, his grin a little menacing. "I saw you out there, man. I saw you cheering, I saw you getting into the game."

"No fucking way," Zayn says, but he's still smiling as he struggles away from Louis' grasp, anticipating the hand Louis flings out to grab his nipple. "You're not putting that shit on me. I was only there to see if someone would punch you in the face."

Louis stops for a second to look at Zayn, his lips curling at one corner in pleasure. "And you got your wish, didn't you?" Louis asks, lifting his chin a bit to show the mottle red bruise on his jaw, almost hidden by his stubble. Louis looks incredibly proud of that mark. "Listen," Louis says grandly, still talking to Zayn but inviting all everyone standing in the kitchen into the conversation, "Zayn, you may not officially be on the team –"

"– he can't even skate," Niall shouts over his shoulder, standing by the sink as he mixes himself another vodka and Dr. Pepper. His crutches – still recovering from a huge hit he took at a game two months ago – are leaning against the counter next to him but he joins in eagerly, shooting Zayn a brilliant grin. "Gorgeous fucker can't even stand on the ice without falling over."

"Right, right," Louis says thoughtfully, welcoming the interruption. "He can't even skate, but where would we be without Zayn, huh?" There's some laughter from the rest of the boys and, after seeing Zayn's blush, Louis seems to like where this is going. "I was twelve when I moved here, and I _distinctly_ remember my first official game after Coach took me on, just a little kid from Thunder Bay –"

"That's my dad!" Harry asks, walking into the kitchen like he's a moth drawn to the flame of Louis' booming voice. Harry's lips are red from the sugary drinks he's been pounding back, holding a wineglass full of strawberry margarita mix as he walks in.

"Yes, yes, our beloved Coach Robin," Louis says, waving Harry into the crowd around the kitchen island. He shoves his hips against Zayn's side, making room for Harry in the circle. "He put me on the first line and, man, I was fucking terrified. There were all those parents in their coats with their Tim's and I didn't know any of them and they were all, like, expecting shit from me. And I distinctly remember seeing little baby Zayn sitting all on his own at the back of the bleachers, watching me like a hawk. You know that look he gives, right? The one where it's like he's picking out all of your mistakes?" 

There are more murmurs of agreement at that statement. Zayn frowns slightly, looking down into his cup. He has been coming to the rink to see Liam and Niall (and, later, Louis) play since he was a kid, a habit that set in early and never really went away despite the fact that Zayn has no real interest in hockey. 

It's just been a thing he does and has always done, a part of his routine, but he never realised that the team actually saw him as a regular part of the game until Louis points it out now. He never realised that they all saw him watching from the bleachers, that he has a _look_ , apparently. And Louis lets it all out just to see Zayn squirm at the attention.

"Well, there he was, and I dunno, man, I played just that much harder trying to impress him," Louis says. "Even before I knew who he fucking was."

Zayn's cheeks burn and, fuck, this is a really disproportionate response to Zayn's lazy, joking toast. "Okay, Louis, seriously –" he tries, but he's drowned out by laughter.

Louis continues, really getting into it now: "It took me a fucking month before I realised he wasn't even on the fucking team. I thought he was out on an injury or something, some star player I hadn't met yet, but he was just there to support the goddamn team, like our fucking cheerleader or something. Fuck!" More laughter now, and Zayn is close to joining in but his face is still flush with embarrassment he doesn't dare show, the two shots of rum he's already had suddenly coming on strong and hot. "Better than a goddamn mascot though, right? Where would we be without our buddy there in the stands, pretending like he doesn't care? Where would we be without this anchor?" 

Louis raises his cup again, and the other players around the table do too. "To Zayn. To sitting smugly on the bleachers but cheering loudest when we score. To hiding how much he really cares about us. Awww, look at him," Louis finishes, watching as Zayn tries to squirm away. "Our Zayn."

Hanging his head, knowing that the red in his cheeks will just egg Louis on, Zayn looks down at the counter and the sticky round circles of green and blue liquor left from old drinks. He hears the clash and splatter of the plastic cups full of beer as his name is repeated again. He feels hands rain down against his back, but eventually he smiles, a grin that almost needs to be beaten out of him.

"Yeah, thanks," Zayn mumbles, still not looking up. "You're all so fucking kind."

"To Zayn!" everyone shouts again. 

There's definitely a special kind of warmth to hockey players, Zayn will give them that. Most of them are dressed in their favourite player's jersey, tall and broad and somehow sweeter for their muscled bigness and hard palms that always come in for a drunken high five. They might laugh at Louis' toast but there's a familiarity to being with them, a different kind of comfort than any other group of friend Zayn has ever had. Zayn has no idea how this all started, but it's a warmth that he has slowly come to learn as a second home. 

And there's Liam, smiling happily in his Blackhawks ( _Toews_ , number 19) sweater, reaching across the kitchen counter to pat Zayn's shoulder like he's sealing the deal. _You're ours_ , he seems to say, or maybe that's just what Zayn wants to read into it. Liam glances towards the floor then back up at Zayn, hand squeezing tight for a moment, almost as if he's saying _sorry about this_. Zayn has definitely seen that look before.

"Aw, c'mon, give me a kiss," Louis says, reaching over to touch Zayn's jaw. Zayn startles away again, slapping at Louis' hand like it's a spider, but he does eventually look up. 

Everyone is grinning at Zayn, all of them very familiar with the special way Louis has of turning every joke he makes with Zayn into a public event, but Zayn only really notices Liam's smile. He's grinning at Zayn and Louis from across the kitchen island as he raises his own glass of water (designated driver, but then he wouldn't be drinking even if he wasn't), bridging the gap between them. It's just an easy smile but it seems to hold so much, as if Liam _understands_ the knot of feelings going on in Zayn's chest right now. 

"No, fuck off," Zayn says, but it's too late because Harry grabs a hold of his arms and Niall is laughing high and bright and Louis smashes his lips against Zayn's cheek anyway.

"That's my boy," Louis says, satisfied with Zayn for now. "Drink?"

"Drink," Zayn agrees. As Louis starts pouring him another mix of rum and coke Zayn takes the distraction to slide up behind Louis and kiss him hard and wet and loud on the edge of his jaw in revenge, managing to get right on his bruise. Louis opens his mouth, happy and scandalised, wiping at the spot, and Niall – back on his crutches – manages to hold out a fist for Zayn to bump.

Even though it has been almost a full year since Liam, Louis, and Niall were graduated into this team and started hanging out with the older crowd, Zayn is only now starting to get a hang of these parties. The change from being sixteen and getting ice cream after a game transitioned very quickly into seventeen and beer and liquor, and it took Zayn a little while to understand the change. 

Zayn doesn't like change. He likes to keep the same small circle of friends and he likes his large family and that's about it, but where Liam, Harry, Louis, and Niall go, so too does Zayn.

This change has been the hardest yet, though. Everything got so much louder in the last year, every emotion so much stronger; the losses are as agonising as the wins are glorious. He might not play for the team but Zayn can feel the love the boys have for the game echoed in his own chest, and he might not admit it outright but Zayn actually kind of likes it. Not the game, just that feeling of having his fate tied to the other boys, that their wins and losses _mean_ something to him too.

It's overwhelming, yeah, but this step up in the world where victory and defeat became life or death brings out so much in the boys. Zayn can't help but want to match their passion: mirroring Louis' firework enthusiasm or Harry's heartfelt support or Niall's buoyant energy or (after the game, when it's just the two of them alone together, doing homework when Liam suddenly goes silent and serious) Liam's intense reflection as he tries to find new ways to be better every day.

It might not actually, technically, be his own crowd, but Zayn smiles even as he receives back slaps that hit hard enough to make him cough. It seems impossible not to want to be part of it when _it_ is so loud and red and full of life. That's why, even as a part of him wants to be cynical, Zayn joins in on anything that's asked of him (making banners, fetching water at practices, buying weed from his cousins) though he maybe has to make fun of it a bit first, pretend that this isn't exactly where he wants to be. 

Really, when he thinks about it, Zayn knows that he does it all because Liam, Louis, Harry, and Niall always invite him, without fail, to every single team party. It's almost an afterthought now, like _of course_ Zayn will be there.

Zayn might not have set foot on a skating rink since he was nine but it's fucking incredible how much these guys can make him feel like he's part of the team, and that's worth much more than any petty hared of hockey could ever be.

*

As the group around the kitchen starts to break up, Liam catches Zayn's glance again. As always, Liam is a step ahead of Zayn, and he mimes smoking a cigarette, tapping the fore and middle finger of his right hand to his lips, his eyebrows raised like a question mark at the end of his silent sentence. Zayn nods and Liam smiles instantly, putting down his cup of water and doing a quick hop-skip around the kitchen to walk with Zayn to the front door.

"Sorry," Liam says, running a hand down Zayn's back. "I know it's getting crowded in there."

"I just need a breather," Zayn says, even though Liam seems to already know that. He digs through the shoes left by the front door, finding his own leather combats and Liam's heavy duty winter boots. Liam puts on his parka, puffy black fabric and a hood lined with fake fur resting around his neck like a lion's mane. Zayn finds his bomber jacket, not nearly warm enough for this weather but like everyone his age he's fiercely proud of pretending winter doesn't touch him. With a nod, they head out together.

"Louis' toast was cute though, wasn't it?" Liam asks. He puts weight against the front door to get it to open, the hinges stiff with ice. Zayn laughs as he follows him outside into the cold.

"Yeah, sure, cute," Zayn huffs, his breath coming out in a cloud of fog. "Fucking Louis putting me on the spot. He knows how I get."

"Fucking Louis," Liam agrees happily. "You know he means it though, right? You're, like, a part of the team."

"I don't like hockey," Zayn says, something he says to Liam so often it's essentially meaningless. The smile he gives after he says it doesn't help either.

"But it wouldn't feel like, you know, a real game if you weren't there to cheer us on," Liam says. He stomps his feet on the concrete patio in front of the house, trying to keep warm as Zayn taps out his pack of cigarettes and takes one. Fitting it between his lips Zayn lights it and lets out a huff, the smoke in his lungs and his fogged breath mingling in a great cloud.

"I'm hardly much of a help," Zayn says, but he knows he's arguing now just for the sake of it. It's his thing now, a long-suffering act of being the only Canadian boy who doesn't give a shit about hockey, and he needs to keep up appearances. It's actually kind of funny now, considering that he's probably been to (and been forced to) see more games than the average fan. 

"No, for real," Liam says, his cheeks going red from the cold. "When we play in another city and you're not there, like, we can feel it. It's not the same."

"You still win, though," Zayn says. His fingers are naked against the night air, trembling against the cigarette as the cold cuts right to the bone. He has to switch his smoking hand every minute, keeping his empty hand tucked up in his sleeve. "Don't you?"

"Yeah, well," Liam says, kicking at the snow a little. "But it's not the same without you there," Liam insists. He takes a few steps away from Zayn to gaze out off the edge of the patio into the quiet snowy night. He breathes out deep, a cloud of fog that he aims upwards like he's smoking too. "We all feel it. We all know when you're missing."

"Liam –" Zayn starts to say. He tries to brush it off but the truth is, on nights like this when he's a little bit drunk, he doesn't mind feeling like he's maybe kind of important to these boys. To Liam. He feels glad to maybe be some strange, spiritual presence on the team. "Nah, come on –"

"It's true," Liam says quickly, looking over his shoulder to smile at Zayn like he's confirming it beyond any doubt.

It's no use arguing, not now when Zayn feels all warm inside even as he's freezing his way through a cigarette. It's amazing how easily Liam makes Zayn feel like an open book, the glint in Liam's eyes like he's reading everything so plainly. Zayn wishes he were inscrutable, but it makes sense; they've been friends since before Zayn can even remember, and Liam has had a long time to learn the cues Zayn doesn't even notice giving. 

As a kid Zayn could never would have guessed that his social life would center around the weekend parties thrown by the local team but here he is, on the patio smoking while he's got a red solo cup full of beer waiting for him inside, his stomach burning with two shots of butterscotch schnapps and spiced rum. Zayn's younger self would probably feel betrayed knowing that he's having such a good time with these kinds of boys, the exact sort of people who made his life that much more irritating growing up, but it's kind of the price he pays to stand next to Liam now. 

Liam seems to understand that though, somehow knowing that Zayn is putting up with these things for him. Every so often Liam will do something that makes Zayn know that it's all appreciated: half-apologising every time he meets Zayn outside the rink after a practice, like he forced Zayn to come against his will. Or, sometimes Liam will try to dance around the subject of hockey when they're hanging out together, like it's shop talk that Zayn would never be remotely interested in, checking his watch anxiously until Zayn just slaps Liam's shoulder and tells him to put the fucking Blackhawks game on. Liam will even smile meekly when he mentions an upcoming game, so many years into this routine but still shyly asking if Zayn might like to come see the big rivalry match against North Bay.

Of course Zayn will come. Of course he cares. He'll groan and make a huge fucking show of hating it, but Zayn hasn't missed a single one of Liam's games in three years. Even when he had the flu.

"Thanks for –" Liam sighs, fidgeting with his words. "Thanks for being –"

"Nah," Zayn says, shutting him down. There it is again. It's funny because Zayn has never actually heard what the second half of that sentence is, what Liam is thanking him for. He just takes Liam's smile and goes with it, lets it be a thousand things. He almost doesn't want to know why Liam is thanking him right now, much better pretending the hundred of things it could be. "Whatever."

Zayn shifts his cigarette from hand to hand, resting his open right palm onto Liam's shoulder as he joins him at the edge of the balcony. 

"Tell me you like this, at least," Liam says. His bare hands are tucked up in the sleeves of his jacket and he makes a little jerky movement towards the field of snow between the patio and the road, the snowbanks piled high on either side of the driveway. 

"No, I really don't," Zayn says. "Fuck winter, honestly."

"Aww," Liam says, looking over at Zayn for a second. "Just look. At least it's pretty, right?"

"I've seen all this before," Zayn says. And yes, the Christmas lights people leave up until April are shining, their light caught by the settled snow to make fuzzy halos of colour. There's a steady wind blowing and it scatters snow from the eaves of the house, tiny little flakes like broken pixels that turn to silver glitter when they're caught in the lamplight, but Zayn has never had Liam's enthusiasm for winter. "It's cold and inconvenient and fucking awful."

Liam purses his lips with a hum. Smoking the last half-inch of his cigarette, Zayn pinches it between his fingers like a joint and tries to see what Liam sees. The world is dead silent, like the snow is a blanket muffling everything, and the sky is never as clear as it is in a freeze like this, as sharp and taut as sheet tucked tight against a hotel bed. Zayn just shakes his head.

"One day," Liam says. He slides his hand in around Zayn's waist, holding him much like how Zayn is holding his shoulder, linked together for the last few seconds as Zayn burns the last of his cigarette. 

"You've been trying for years to make me like winter," Zayn says. "Not happening, dude. I'll endure it, but I won't fucking like it."

The laughter Liam gives is like a hiccup, at first an uncontrolled like giggle that he shuts down suddenly. "Zaynie?"

"Yeah?" Zayn says. He pulls his hands into the sleeves of his leather jacket, not much warmer but at least out of the wind.

"You ever wanna – you ever think about –" Liam stops as suddenly as his laughter did. His smile wrinkles into a frown as he seems to think better of his next sentence. 

"Think about what?" Zayn asks. He's only just a little buzzed, a bubbly warmth in the pit of his stomach, but he's not even sure he'd understand that stutter of words if he was sober.

"Nothing, it's cool," Liam says. "My mind's all over the place, sorry."

"That's cool," Zayn says, not wanting to push. Liam's good at not pushing Zayn to open up, so Zayn thinks he ought to return the favour.

They stay held together, Liam not moving his hand from Zayn's waist and Zayn not moving from Liam's shoulder even though his hand is starting to hurt from the cold. It feels important not to move right now, even though it feels like pins are stabbing his skin. Liam might have broken off the end of that sentence like a snapped twig, but the words linger there like the steam of his breath. 

"You trying to make me like your fucking snow again?" Zayn ventures.

"No, no," Liam says quickly. He's still not looking at Zayn, staring out at the flat neighbourhood of quiet bungalow houses iced with a foot of snow like gingerbread, but Zayn can see Liam worrying his lower lip between his teeth. "You know how much I – you know what you mean to me –"

"Sure," Zayn says with a laugh. "What game?"

"What?" Liam asks, and Zayn knows he's completely hit off the mark.

"You've got a game coming up, right?" Zayn says a little unsteadily. "Of course I'll be there. Is that what you were asking me?"

"Oh," Liam says, blinking for a moment but catching on quickly. It's not fast enough though, and Zayn knows Liam meant something completely different. "Sure, uh. Actually." Liam shakes his head a little, like pushing away a thought. "Would you wanna come on the road with us? We've got a game in Ottawa in a couple of weeks, I'm sure I could get you a spot on the bus and you could crash with one of us in the hotel. Coach wouldn't mind. In fact he'd probably want our lucky charm along for the ride."

Zayn shrugs. "Sure." Even though the deal is sealed, Zayn can still feel something lingering in the empty place between them. "Liam?"

"Yeah?"

"Is that it?"

Zayn can't really tell what expression Liam is giving now. He's still chewing on his bottom lip and blinking quickly a few times, but even as Liam smiles something still feels unfinished. "It'll be awesome having you there. Road trips with the team are really fun."

"I remember that one we did to the Sault," Zayn says. "That was wild."

"Yeah," Liam says. His enthusiasm comes back on that syllable, the hint of trouble in Liam's voice gone. "Come on, I'm freezing." Liam finally lets go of Zayn then, turning back towards the house.

It might be the liquor but Zayn still isn't totally satisfied. It's another of Liam's sentences that doesn't seem to have a second half, and this time he's actually curious about what Liam wanted to say next. 

Liam reaches back to Zayn, though, and the question leaves Zayn's head as he holds Liam's warm hand in his cold and joins him back inside the house.

*

"Don't _go_ ," Louis moans, dragging out the last word for ages. He's properly drunk now, and sitting on Harry's lap on the living room couch, reaching out with one arm like he's going to grab Zayn and keep him there by force. 

It's the time of the night when people are starting to pass out or stumble home but Harry and Louis are still going strong; Harry is holding a mickey of vodka in one hand and Louis is nursing a two-litre bottle of coke and they switch back and forth, mixing the drinks in their mouths with heavy swigs. Niall, meanwhile, is sleeping with his head pressed hard against Harry's shoulder, smiling happily even when he's out cold. They seem so comfortable together and Zayn kind of just wants to curl against them and pass out as well, to have something like that right now, warmth next to his body and dumb jokes whispered against his ear. 

"Sorry," Zayn says, tousling Louis' hair and stepping away again before Louis grabs his arm. "Liam's my ride."

" _Liam_ ," Louis yells suddenly, craning his neck to get a look into the kitchen where Liam is lacing up his boots. "Don't _go_."

Liam pokes his head into the living room, key ring jangling in one hand. "Sorry, Lou," he says. "We've got practice tomorrow, man."

Louis frowns for a second but Harry cheers him up when he hands him the bottle of vodka again. "All right, all right," Louis says. "See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, I'll be there," Zayn says, slapping Harry's offered high five and missing. They both laugh and Zayn hiccups. The taste of spiced rum is in the back of Zayn's throat, raw and sugary and making him wince. Zayn isn't totally drunk but he wavers on the spot a little. "Later, guys."

"Love you, Zayn!" Harry shouts, and Louis nods fervently in agreement.

"Love you guys," Zayn says, stumbling a little as he turns on his heel and follows Liam away from the party and out into the cold night again.

The shock of the weather is like a slap, sending a full-body shiver through Zayn as he steps out from the heat of the party and out into winter again. Liam is already halfway to his truck so Zayn tries to catch up. 

The packed snow on the driveway squeaks like styrofoam under his boots and, kind of spaced out, Zayn marvels at the sound. He grinds his heels as he follows Liam to his truck and laughs as the noise seems to screech through his bones, like he's hearing the crunch of snow in his jaw. 

"What are you doing?" Liam asks.

"Seeing what you like about snow," Zayn says. "It squeaks, man."

"Okay, okay, get in drunky," Liam says with a smile as he holds the passenger door open for Zayn.

Zayn takes a hold of the handle but he's never quite got the hang of sliding elegantly into a truck. He swings himself and lands bodily against the seat, his legs slipping out from under him and he clings on for dear life. Finally getting a grip, Zayn drags himself upright and slams the door closed just as Liam jumps easily into the driver's seat.

"Fuck," Zayn huffs out. "How you like this shit, Liam, I do not know."

"The snow?"

"The fucking snow," Zayn agrees. "I don't get it. It squeaks."

Liam gives a little shrug. "I don't like winter 'cause it's winter," Liam says, way too philosophical for Zayn's stormcloud of a buzz right now. Zayn just nods along like he understands. "Lots of good things have happened during it, and I like remembering that stuff, you know? That's why it's special."

"Oh," Zayn says, squinting like he's trying to decipher hieroglyphics. "Sure."

Liam twists the key in the ignition and the rumble of the engine flaring to life covers up his little chuckle. "You're not going to hurl, are you?"

"I'm not even drunk," Zayn mumbles. "I'm just gonna rest my eyes for a second, okay?"

"All right," Liam says fondly. Before he moves to put the truck into gear, he reaches over and pats Zayn's knee. Even if it only lasts for an instant, Zayn can feel the warmth of Liam's palm through the denim of his jeans.

Night moves past them in a blur. Zayn can only keep his eyes open for seconds at a time, enough to get a blurry vision of coloured light and snow piled high like the froth of seafoam at high tide or marshmallows puffing up in a fire. The passenger-side window is achingly cold against Zayn's forehead but it feels so good. The numbing cold freezes out the headache that threatens Zayn at the back of his skull, keeping the hurt at bay. Even when his eyes close and the world vanishes into the muted pulse of orange streetlights against his eyelids Zayn has two things to hold on to: the cold against his temple, and Liam's voice as he sings along to the quiet radio station (Katy Perry, _Roar_ , obviously) in his sweet falsetto. 

Zayn doesn't remember nodding off, but the next thing he notices is the touch of Liam's hand, still so warm even as he slaps Zayn's cheeks. 

"What? Where are we?" Zayn says, eyes shooting open. 

"At home, idiot," Liam says. "Come on."

It takes Zayn a second before he remembers where he is, looking around wildly. Right, okay, the driveway of Liam's house. The truck's engine is off, creaking loudly as the cold clings to the metal, and Zayn can feel a cooling spot of spit at the corner of his lips from when he was dozing. Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his frigid leather jacket, Zayn takes Liam's hand and slides out of the truck as cleanly as he can manage right now.

"Shit, I'm kind of drunk, actually, now that I think about," Zayn mutters as he follows Liam to the front door, liking the way Liam laughs at that. The winter cold is good right now, biting at Zayn's skin and sobering him up a little as he waits for Liam to find the right key. "What the hell time is it, anyway?"

"It's one thirty," Liam whispers. "Don't make too much noise, okay?" Finally finding his house key, Liam turns to look at Zayn before he lets them in. "You going to make it, Zaynie?"

"No, no, I'm totally fine," Zayn says. To prove it he marches forward, right into the closed door.

"Oh, shit," Liam says.

The only thing Zayn can feel is the wet cold of the snow as he lands on his ass, his jeans a little too low as the naked small of his back suddenly tingles with ice. The rest of him is too numb to feel anything else and, distantly, Zayn really hopes his nose isn't bleeding right now. Liam is standing above him, looking down at Zayn with shocked, white concern on his face. When Zayn licks his upper lip (feeling the rough brush of five days of stubble but, luckily, no blood) Liam breaks into a grin.

"You going to make it, Zaynie?" Liam asks again.

"Might need a – might need a hand, actually," Zayn says.

Zayn tries his best to keep quiet, he really does, but the laugh escapes him anyway. It's hard not to when Liam is looking at him with that mix of worry and delight. The laughter is uncontrollable, like bubbles rising in Zayn's chest, and he throws his head back to let it out. Turns out that's a terrible mistake, his brain spinning as he tries to come back down to earth. But he can't stop laughing, drunk and freezing and remembering the party and Louis' toast and how he's apparently part of this team now. 

Part of the fucking team. 

"Am I your teammate?" Zayn asks. He knows he's going to be embarrassed tomorrow, embarrassed that he walked into the door and embarrassed that he asked this question. But that's tomorrow.

"What?" Liam asks, trying to smile but his eyes shining with a worry like this is a sign of a concussion or something.

"Like Louis said?"

"Oh," Liam says, relief washing over him. "Of course, Zayn. You're definitely the first star tonight."

"Good," Zayn says. Even though he knows, he _knows_ that he doesn't give a shit about hockey, he kind of clings to that right now.

"Come on," Liam says, and he offers the hand Zayn asked for.

Zayn takes it.

Somehow, against all odds, the two of them make it to the top of the stairs and into Liam's bedroom without waking everyone up. It's a blur; Zayn can only remember forcing himself not to laugh and holding on to Liam's palm for dear life. Liam's hand is sweaty and hot, and Zayn can still feel the iron grip of his fingers even after they've let go.

"Bed," Zayn murmurs, taking a staggering step towards it.

"No," Liam says, grabbing the back of Zayn's hoodie and pulling him away from the teasing promise of sleep. "Teeth first."

Zayn follows Liam automatically, too tired and blitzed to make his own decisions. Luckily, the bathroom is just across the hall from Liam's bedroom, and Liam locks the door behind them once they're both inside. 

They brush their teeth together in a warm, drunken silence. Zayn's spare toothbrush (the green one he keeps at Liam's house, standing out like neon) is sitting in a cup along with the rest of the family brushes and that makes Zayn smile. Holding it in a loose grip, Zayn shifts his weight from foot to foot as he tries to stay standing, keeping one eye open as he watches Liam squeeze a small dab of toothpaste on the bristles.

It's incredible how easy this kind of thing is. The two of them stand shoulder to shoulder as they brush their teeth together, spitting into the same sink, catching each other's glances in the mirror and grinning against the white froth of toothpaste when they do. It's such a simple thing to do, washing up together before bed, and Zayn can instantly picture a hundred, a thousand nights just like this. 

It would be the two of them, just as it is now, in this bathroom with its fancy pastel soaps carved to look like tulips, the acrylic shower curtain showing the map of the world, the lingering smell of Liam's sisters' perfume in the air. They'd brush their teeth side by side in the mornings before school and at night after staying up too late watching an 80s teen movie marathon on TV. They'd live together as easy as breathing, sharing these tiny moments day by day until it became just another part of living. And even if it did become habit, even if they did it every day, they'd still catch each other in the mirror's reflection and they'd smile with their lips white from brushing. 

Just like this.

"Rinse?" Liam asks.

"What?" Zayn only now notices he hasn't actually been brushing. His mouth tingles from the mint, disgusting when it mixes with the aftertaste of sweet rum. "Oh, shit. Yeah, sure."

Liam smiles as he hands over his little pink plastic rinsing cup and turns back to the mirror. He's still smiling as he squeezes a few handfuls of soap into his palms before he washes his face, smiling like somehow he telepathically heard Zayn's stupid little fantasy: the two of them standing in front of the same mirror, getting ready for sleep, catching each other and laughing. It plays out exactly like Zayn imagined.

Zayn rinses his mouth a few times, spitting into the flow of water from the taps, and quickly wipes the toothpaste from around his mouth. Liam is towelling his face off when Zayn is finally satisfied he doesn't have any foam left on his chin.

" _Bed_?" Zayn asks again, more demanding this time.

"Yeah, bed," Liam agrees, touching a hand to the small of Zayn's back like he's going to guide him through the rest of the night. 

Zayn almost runs back into Liam's room. The awkward dance of where Zayn should sleep ended a couple of years ago; no more blankets and pillows at the foot of Liam's bed, no more awkward offers from Liam about switching places this time. Sharing the bed is just a given now, and Zayn only has enough time to unbuckle his jeans and kick them off before sliding under the sheets and burying his head in the pillows.

It takes a bit longer for Liam to get ready. He hangs up his Blackhawks jersey and changes into striped pyjama pants in the quick, dignified manner of someone who spends a lot of time in changing rooms. He turns out the lights and picks up Zayn's jeans from the floor and folds them neatly over the back of the chair by his desk. He sets the alarm on his phone and puts it on his night table. 

All the while, Zayn can imagine this happening every night, so easily. Their little routine.

Normally Zayn would stay awake long enough to have a quick chat before bed, but sleep tugs at him from the inside. His muscles feel like they've been weighted, a pull at the backs of his eyes that almost hurts. He tries to keep his eyes open, wants to thank Liam for something he can't even name (we're on each others' team; _I'm on your team_ ) but Zayn has absolutely nothing left inside.

The last thing Zayn sees before falling asleep is Liam pulling on a loose white t-shirt, the muscles of his back flexing and rippling as he reaches up into it. The last thing Zayn hears is Liam's gentle laugh as he glances over to where Zayn is curled up on the mattress. The last thing Zayn feels is Liam crawling into bed, the soft brush of cotton when Liam reaches over to tuck their shared duvet up under Zayn's chin.

*

"Zayn?"

The first barriers between dreaming and waking start to fall (he's starring in a new sci-fi movie, he has some kind of powers he never gets to see because he's performing in front of a green screen. Is Liam there? or is that just his real voice mingling with the fantasy?) and Zayn grumbles, trying to roll over onto his stomach.

"Zayn?" Liam asks again, definitely in real life this time. Zayn can feel the touch of Liam's hand on his cheek, so gentle. "Sorry, man."

"What?" Zayn says, winking one eye open.

"Sorry," Liam says again, an automatic reflex now when he wakes Zayn up. "I need to know if you're still coming to the practice, though. If you wanna sleep in, that's totally cool, but if you wanna go you need to get up."

"I'll come," Zayn says, the words in his dry throat sounding like they've been scraped against pavement. He agrees without thinking, even though, as he struggles to lean up on his elbows and the full force of his hangover crackles like electricity in his head, he suddenly really wants to stay here in Liam's bed. "What time is it?"

"Almost eleven," Zayn says. "You've got twenty minutes, okay?"

Finally raised from the dead, propped up on his elbows and blinking slowly at the light coming in through the bedroom window, Zayn gets his first proper look at Liam. Dressed in only pyjama pants (red and white plaid, Canadian down to his sleepwear) Liam is standing tall by Zayn's side of the bed, muscled and strong but made softer by the clouded light and his gentle little smile. He's fresh from the shower (Zayn cracks a smile remembering how Liam likes to shower both before and after any hockey game), his buzzed hair bristly and still a little wet, the flush of the steam-heat still high in his chest. When Liam is finally satisfied that Zayn isn't going to roll over and go back to bed, he holds out his hand and reveals two red aspirin in his palm.

"I fucking love you," Zayn says, taking the pills.

Liam seems to like that; the blush of his chest seems to spread to his throat and his cheeks as he smiles. Liam has always liked to be useful, but Zayn knows that he likes being thanked for it more. "Oh, and –" Liam says, reaching to the table next to Zayn's side of the bed. "Here." A can of sugar free Red Bull. "You feeling okay?"

"Like shit," Zayn says.

"Hey, at least you don't have to play," Liam says. He's standing by Zayn a little awkwardly now that he doesn't have anything left to give, but he stays put as Zayn pops open the can and downs the aspirin with a swig of Red Bull. "Poor Louis."

"Remember that time he puked on the ice?" Zayn asks.

Liam gives a little burst of laughter. "Yeah. He's a dumbass."

"Hey, that's my team you're talking about," Zayn says. It comes out unbidden, like it was where he left off on a conversation yesterday and it suddenly popped into his head again. Liam's smile keeps Zayn steady though, and it actually doesn't feel that strange when he says it. A little _something_ seems to warm in his chest, like blowing on a coal in the fire, making it glow orange and warm in the bottom of Zayn's lungs. "Er," Zayn says. "Sorta."

"Your team," Liam says. His smile sticks until it breaks into a grin and Liam looks away quickly, angling it at the ground. "You remember saying that? You were wasted."

"Was I saying it a lot?" Zayn asks. He normally hates going over his drunken nights, finding too many things to fixate on and get embarrassed about, but somehow he seems to be immune to this particular little thing. 

"Kinda," Liam says. He runs a hand back through his bristly hair; Zayn can hear the crackle of it, can almost feel the tickle of it on his own hands from the hundreds of times he's done that to Liam on his own. "You could keep saying it, if you want," Liam suggests.

Zayn nods slowly. "Can I? I mean – am I even allowed?"

"Yeah," Liam says eagerly. "Who else would come watch us practice even when they're hungover?" That seems to wake Liam up, shaking his head for a second before glancing down at the huge watch on his wrist. "On that note: fifteen minutes."

"All right," Zayn says. "I'm up, I'm up."

*

The truck is already idling in the driveway when Zayn, dressed in his clothes from the night before, comes down the stairs and into the kitchen. He's managed to clean most of the night from his face (sleep in the corner of his eyes, the clammy hungover taste in his mouth scrubbed out with his toothbrush, sticky smudges on his cheeks of some unknown liquor Louis must have spilled on him) and is feeling, well, not better, but at least braced for the day.

"Hey, Zayn," Ruth says, sitting at the kitchen counter with a newspaper and a bowl of cereal.

"Hey, Ruthie," Zayn says. "Liam?"

"Putting his stuff in the truck," Ruth says, gesturing with her spoon. "Hey, uh, you look pretty rough there, buddy."

"Victory party," Zayn says, giving a weak fist pump like it's an explanation.

Ruth laughs. "That's what you get for hanging out with that crowd," she says. "I stayed away from hockey players in high school for a reason. You must be wrecked."

"Yeah, I am. Hey, how's Uni?" Zayn asks. He puts his hands in his jeans pockets, taking a step closer. Zayn has known Ruth for almost as long as he's known Liam, and even though she's just _that_ much older she seems a world apart. It should be awkward (Ruth has seen so many of Zayn's fuck-ups he can't even count them all), she's still so easy to talk to. It's the same with Liam's entire family, like they've all so opened a spot in their lives for Zayn to occupy ever since his first sleepover here when he was eleven. Talking to Ruth is as easy as talking to his own sisters.

"You're sweet for asking but you really oughta go, buddy," Ruth says. "Here, take a muffin. Mom bought like a hundred from Tim's for her church thing."

"Thanks," Zayn says, and he takes four muffins from the cardboard box sitting beside Ruth. "For Liam, like," Zayn explains when she eyes him. 

"Aw, thoughtful," Ruth says, tilting her head to the side. "You definitely aren't a hockey player."

It's strange because Zayn almost wants to correct her. No, he's part of the team now, but even as Zayn hears it in his head he knows how stupid it sounds. That's a distinction that only makes sense to him. "Thanks, Ruth," Zayn says instead.

"You here for dinner?" Ruth asks. "I'm making Irish stew."

"Uh, yeah, maybe," Zayn says. He's holding the muffins close to his chest as he tries to slide his feet into his unlaced combat boots. It takes some work, almost dropping his breakfast as he does, but he manages to get them on. He grabs his jacket with one hand and throws it over his shoulder. "See ya, Ruth."

"Have fun with Liam," Ruth says absently, back to reading her newspaper. Her spoon drips milk as she waves it around and Zayn frowns.

"Yeah, okay," Zayn says, wondering why sitting in a freezing rink while Liam skates laps around the ice is a fun bonding activity, but he lets it slide.

Zayn doesn't have long to think about it though, because as soon as he steps outside Liam grins at him. The truck is ready to go: Liam's huge hockey bag is snug in the back amongst chunks of ice and concrete paving slabs and bags of road salt; the electric cord has been unplugged from the truck and kicked back towards the garage; the windows inside are starting to fog as the heat finally starts to blow. All that's missing is Liam's co-pilot.

"Ready to go?" Liam asks. Dull metal rings out like a broken bell as Liam pats the top of the truck a couple of times.

"Yep."

This hangover is killing Zayn, and all he has to look forward to is a couple hours spent huddling for warmth in an arena and a blueberry muffin. It's kind of a nightmare morning, actually, but even as he dreads it Zayn smiles and clambers into the passenger seat, still so ungainly with the handle. 

Yeah, whatever, so what if it is kind of fun?

*

By the time Zayn finishes his cigarette and steps into the modest arena, most of the team are already on the ice. The place is eerily silent, metal gates in the lobby swung open, doors everywhere left unlocked; Zayn could wander about anywhere if he wanted (and he has, a couple times before, letting himself into the electrical booth where he fiddled with the switches until suddenly he was blasting the arena with AC/DC) but he just makes an easy line into the tunnels and out into the stadium seating.

It's not like it used to be when they were kids. The stands are completely empty these day, no parents coming to see their kid practice (hell, most of the older players aren't even from here, their parents hundreds of miles away), no toddler figure-skating troupe lingering in the stands after their class, it's only Zayn now as he trudges down the steps to find a seat a couple of rows behind the boards.

After rifling through his pockets for the crushed banana nut muffin he has left (Liam gratefully wolfing down his own share in the car), Zayn unzips his coat and lets it fall behind him. As he takes bites of his breakfast Zayn does a quick scan of the players, idly looking for Liam.

Zayn's gotten good at this. Before he used to look for the numbers ( _PAYNE 19_ hidden amongst the others like a tricky word search) but now he can identify Liam on impulse alone. He's not the tallest, he's not the fastest, his hair is buzzed short so it doesn't show outside of the helmet, but Zayn can still pick Liam out almost instantly after a quick glance around.

There's just something about the way Liam skates. He has a sleekness to him, a way of making it seem effortless as he glides without even trying. Zayn can always catch it, the smooth way Liam has of skating around the ice like he's floating. Where other players will have this huge pounding strength in their thighs (Louis can push from one end of the ice to the other in a burst of speed almost not one else can rival) or a dancing kind of agility, everything about Liam's way of skating is smooth. Even when he's stickhandling he's skating like he's in water, affected by rippling currents, fast but not twitchy. 

Zayn has only eaten a few bites of his muffin before he spots Liam. He's skating laps around the rink with Louis by his side, the two of them moving as easily as if they were taking a walk in the park. Zayn has no interest in skating but he imagines it must be nice, locked in together like that, on the same wavelength as they move together. Liam and Louis' legs shift in unison, right and left, each of their strides matching each other perfectly. It's easy to see why the two of them play on the same line, have articles in the local paper talking about their _chemistry_ ; they just fit together perfectly.

It's hard not to wonder what they're talking about, but Zayn can imagine. It's probably about the practice, knowing Liam, that intense way he gets before and after any time he spends on the ice. Liam is always pushing for more laps, more sprints, more of anything during the practice. Even when the rest of the team is completely wiped Liam will keep pushing, adding an extra five times around the rink for his own benefit, pushing until it hurts (and Zayn spends the afternoon getting new ice to put on his back and legs.) In anyone else it would be showing off but the team seems to understand that it's just Liam wanting it to fill that part of him that feels like he'll never be good enough. And they know that's not something you tease a teammate about.

Zayn only knows all this because it's stuff he heard at parties, from other players. Though they talk about what an intense asshole Liam is, it's always fondly. When Liam is off entertaining Louis with a boatrace in some other part of the house, Zayn gets to hear about the Liam that exists out there, on the ice. It's a part of Liam that Zayn doesn't get to really see from the bench, and Zayn has a hard time living with that empty space in his heart so he tries to piece it together on his own.

It's fucked up because it's right there, so close. Liam is on the ice, with Louis, with his _real_ team saying dumb little things, jokes about hockey or Coach Robin or the game last night that makes them all laugh (Zayn can pick out Liam's particular chuckle sometimes, low and soft) and Zayn watches it all from the bleachers. It's how it's always been, Liam with his life out there and his life with Zayn, the two of them crossing only occasionally, but it doesn't make it easier to deal with. It still takes a few deep breaths for Zayn to get the hard clench in his chest to release.

"Hey, Zayn."

Zayn turns quickly, spilling the rest of his muffin and a lapful of crumbs onto the ground. From the far end of the row Niall is hobbling towards Zayn on his crutches. It's tough navigating the small aisle but Niall manages it, his braces clattering loudly when they bang against the plastic seats. When he finally reaches Zayn he sits down with a huff.

"How are you feeling?" Zayn asks.

"Like shit," Niall says happily. "You?"

"Same," Zayn says. "At least we don't have to play, huh?"

"Right on," Niall says. Slouching down in his plastic seat, Niall leans over and rests his head against Zayn's shoulder. "You stayed at Leemo's last night, yeah?"

"Yeah," Zayn says. "You know, too far and too trashed to go home."

"You stay there a lot, huh?" Niall asks. It sounds innocent enough but Zayn can hear something in Niall's voice like it's the start of a conversation.

"Sure," Zayn says. "Our families are close. The Paynes like me. Uh, like, I think they do anyway."

Niall gives a loud laugh and Zayn can feel it reverberate in his chest, the spot of contact between them translating sound into buzzing touch. "Who wouldn't, huh?"

"How's your leg, man?" Zayn asks, feeling more and more like Niall didn't just come over here to chat. 

"Couple more months then I'll be back on the ice," Niall says. Zayn can feel his small shrug. It's incredible how Niall can take a shitty situation and still somehow smile about it, that energy even lifting Zayn a little bit. Niall always just gets it, without ever trying. "It sucks but at least I get to see them play, you know? I never got the chance to just watch them and they're so good. I finally get to be a fan for a little bit."

"You and me, huh?" Zayn asks. "We could do routines. Chants."

"Always wondered why hockey didn't have cheerleaders," Niall says. "What, we don't need to get pumped up too?"

"Cause the cheerleaders would fall on the ice?"

Niall thinks about that for a second, nodding slowly. "Actually, yeah, that makes sense."

"Besides, you've got an organ player who can play shitty versions of songs from the 90s. Isn't that enough to get pumped up?" Zayn asks, leaning into Niall a bit more. He rests his cheek against the top of Niall's head, tucks in against him a bit closer. "Uh, Niall?"

"Yeah, man?" Niall asks.

"Have – you noticed anything different about Liam lately?" Zayn asks. He's not even sure why he says it, what answer he's looking for, but he can't stop thinking about their broken little conversation on the front porch last night. 

"Huh?" Niall asks. It sounds casual but Zayn knows he's hit on something, that underlying reason that's hidden behind Niall's simple questions. "What do you mean?"

"I dunno," Zayn says. "We were just talking last night and it seemed like he was – I don't know. Holding something back. And we never hide shit from each other. Is something, like, wrong?"

It takes Niall a few moments to reply. The practice has started up in earnest, bright orange cones set up on the ice as Liam starts running drills around them, getting his team to duck and weave around the obstacles. The arena rings out with the clean slick-slide sound of skates on ice and the harsh rasp as they come to a quick stop. Every so often there will be the sharp screech of a whistle. Otherwise no one says a thing, and the longer the silence goes on the more Zayn feels like something is definitely wrong.

"Nah, I don't think so," Niall says finally. "I just think he's – worried. More worried than usual. You know how Liam gets, keeping everything inside."

"Worried about what?" Zayn says. A thousand things jump into Zayn's head at once: Liam is moving, transferring to a new team, leaving school early to be called up to the fucking NHL. It all seems possible, it all seems inevitable, and Zayn's hit with a sudden longing even though Liam's right here. "What's he worried about?" 

"Listen," Niall says softly, sighing like he's sorry to have to say this. "I'm only guessing here, okay? This is just straight from me to you, Liam hasn't told me anything. I just think – you know, now that he's been made captain and the hockey stuff is getting bigger and bigger, he's – maybe a bit worried maybe he's losing people in his life. Maybe – losing you. Kinda." Niall sighs again and Zayn can feel a weight in him descending. "He talks about you a lot, Zayn, when you're not around. I think he just misses you sometimes. Don't tell him I said so or anything, I think he doesn't want to make you upset or anything."

"But – I'm here. I'm at a practice and –" Zayn says, but he trails off. He can hear his own words in his head, the joke about not caring about hockey that's been going on for years, a joke that suddenly seems completely stupid. It's just the way it's always been done, Liam compartmentalising everything so well that they almost never talk about his time on the ice. Zayn always kind of thought he was Liam's respite from thinking about the game every second, but now he can't help but wonder if he's kind of pushed himself away from the thing Liam cares most about. "Oh."

"It's not you – shit, it's totally not you, Zayn, I didn't mean it like that," Niall says quickly. "Liam won't shut up about how good a friend you are. He's just really stressed about being captain and being good enough and having school and all that. Does he tell you about that shit?"

The answer sinks like a stone in Zayn's stomach. "No. Not really."

"Ah," Niall says. "Hey, this is just my guess, okay? I could be totally wrong. Yeah, I'm probably wrong." Niall gives a laugh but Zayn can tell instantly it's forced; Niall loves to laugh too much for this to sound real. "I wouldn't worry about it. No one knows Liam like you do, right?"

Zayn knows Niall isn't wrong, though. The truth has always been there, obvious almost, but Zayn has done a really good job. "But we've never really – fuck, we've never kept secrets from each other before. Never." 

"No, no, it's not a secret," Niall says quickly. Zayn clings on to the upbeat tick in Niall's voice even as his stomach starts to boil with a sickness that Zayn tries to keep at bay. "We're all going through it, seeing our friends less and less, spending more time away from home. It's natural, isn't it? The game comes first, the game always comes first. Even on my crutches I've barely got any time for myself, it just happens this way. But you're there for him, ain't ya?"

"Yeah," Zayn says.

"And you love him, yeah?"

"'Course," Zayn says, knowing the answer to that one easily.

"Then it'll work out, you'll see," Niall says. 

"I don't actually hate hockey," Zayn says quietly.

"We all know that, man. _Liam_ knows that. Better than anyone," Niall says. He starts rubbing Zayn's back and the touch is fucking magic, keeping Zayn steady when he feels as dizzy as he gets after his first cigarette in hours. "Things are just going so fast," Niall says. "And you know Liam gets really stressed about change, trying to be the best he can be."

"I hate change," Zayn mumbles. "I don't know how he manages so well."

"He really does talk about you a lot. He made the whole team love you." Niall moves his head from Zayn's shoulder, turns to look at him with his sweet pink smile and blue eyes lit up from within. "You're his anchor, eh?"

"Yeah," Zayn says, wondering how true that can be now. "Maybe."

"You are," Niall says firmly, like he gets to decide. "I know you, Zayn. I know you're an amazing friend. I know the love you've got in you, man."

"I do love him," Zayn says. "I love you. I – love this team." Zayn takes a second to think about what he just said. "I swear to God, do not repeat that to anyone. Pretend I never said that."

Niall gives a real laugh this time. "And we love you too, man," Niall says. "I really wouldn't worry about it."

"I won't," Zayn says, hopefully convincing Niall even if he doesn't convince himself.

Niall goes back to resting his head on Zayn's shoulder again, a happier sigh this time as he gets to watch the boys do quick one-on-one headers, scrambling for the puck. Without even trying Zayn finds Liam amongst the crowd and he watches him skate around the rink. Zayn tries to imagine the things going on in Liam's heart, those stresses that lead to stumbling sentences and half-secrets they've somehow started to keep from each other, the speed of change that apparently has started to erode the foundations of who they were. 

During the scrimmage Liam and Louis prove what all the papers keep saying about them: a perfect chemistry. They move so naturally together, playing off each other without a word. They're so good at it, a communication that it seems almost telepathic, the two of them able to set up these shots for each other so naturally they might as well be two halves of the same whole. Liam, never really caring about points so much as the result, is always there when Louis needs him, feeding him the puck when he has a great shot on net. When they score Louis always swings by Liam and stops for a private victory, his big gloved hand at the back of Liam's head as they knock helmets gently.

It's difficult not envying what they have, but Zayn knows (he knows, he has to know) that he kind of has the same with Liam off the ice. He clings to that right now, he has to. When they're alone together doing homework, Liam somehow always knows when Zayn needs a smoke break, or Zayn will get this itch in his fingertips when he knows Liam's hungry or needs help with the trig problem he's working on. It's always there, in the back of his head, knowing Liam like he knows himself.

There's still this feeling in Zayn's chest though, like gravity has given out, a swooping sensation like he missed the bottom step of a staircase. Zayn closes his eyes, Zen-like, and goes over everything he knows about Liam (birthday, cell number, the way he likes his tea, pizza toppings, favourite episodes of _Game of Thrones_ , radio stations), like he's trying to keep them in order, the things he knows can and will not change.

Zayn keeps saying those little things in his head, over and over until they become stuck there, and he watches as Liam skates around out there on the ice, his movements as elegant and quick as flight.

*

It's half-past seven, two hours into their homework as they kill the last of a bag of cookies. Zayn has a pile in front of him, lying on his stomach on Liam's bed and kicking his legs back and forth like a teenager on the telephone, while Liam, cross-legged at the foot of the bed, is just taking handfuls of broken corners and crumbs from the box.

It's how they've spent pretty much every Sunday for the last two years, Liam loading up on calories after the practice (muscle weight, complex things about proteins and carbs) and Zayn joins in with him just for fun. It's reliable, the steady boredom of homework with Liam, so dull and obvious that Zayn has come to crave it in a way, a chance to breathe after hockey parties and being surrounded by too many people for too long. Here it's just him and Liam, kind of the way it should be. Before change.

Zayn has already memorised Liam's bedroom a hundred times over but he can't concentrate, tapping his pencil listlessly against the pages of his beat up copy of King Lear (complete with cartoonish drawings and a helpful Middle English translator in the margin) and chewing on a double fudge cookie, so he goes over the details again: Liam's laptop sitting open on his desk, tinny speakers playing Great Big Sea quietly; a pile of dirty clothes overflowing from a white plastic hamper; a trio of freshly taped hockey sticks propped up in the corner of his room. The mushy dregs of Ruth's Irish stew are stone cold now, their mostly empty bowls sitting next to an open bottle of Coke (cap off, going flat, Liam always fucking forgetting) and two empty bags of chips and the last of a tray of brownies, only crumbs and stuck-on chocolate left. 

There are all kinds pennants on the wall (Liam's own teams, and the Blackhawks, too), gold and silver trophies cluttered and dusty on a shelf above his bed, and no fewer than four posters of Liam's hockey hero Jonathan Toews plastered on the walls. Three of them are action shots, crouched forward mid-skate with his stick held forward like an attack, but there's also one of the dude standing against a grey background in his jersey for some official roster photo, looking back at Zayn with dead black eyes and an expression almost like surprise

"That one is still so fucking funny," Zayn says, gesturing at the poster with his pencil. It's a new addition, only a couple of months old, and Zayn still cracks up when he sees it. "Every fucking time."

"Hey now," Liam says mildly. He's sitting at the foot of the bed, legs crossed with his books spread in front of him, and he doesn't even look up at Zayn when he speaks. "Do we have to have our Toews talk again?"

"No, no," Zayn says. "I know, the hero doesn't get made fun of."

"Because there are a lot of great Canadian hockey players –" and Liam starts in on the _Toews talk_ anyway.

"But Toews is one of the best to ever play for the NHL, I know," Zayn says. He learned early not to make fun of Liam's heroes, having sat through too many of these conversations to count, but he keeps thinking about what Niall said today. Zayn actually kind of wants the tedious monologues now, he wants to hear Liam talk about it. "He looks kind of like a potato, though."

"Zayn!" Liam shouts, twisting around to look up at him. He looks scandalised, but he's definitely smiling. "He's beautiful, leave him alone."

"Why do you like him so much?" Zayn ventures next. He sort of knows why, has heard Liam tell dozens of people the reasons over the last few years, but it feels important to ask it now, just the two of them. Liam's expression changes when he goes on about Toews and the Blackhawks, he gets this way to him that's all excitement and Zayn really wants to be the one to make that happen right now. "Isn't he a traitor, playing for the States?"

Liam looks a little taken aback. "You wanna talk about Jonny?"

Zayn shrugs, making it seem like nothing. Dropping his pencil and closing his copy of King Lear, Zayn scoots closer to the edge of the bed so he can roll onto his side and look down at Liam. "Go on, then. What makes him special?"

"You really wanna know?" Liam asks, his smile getting that much brighter as he realises what Zayn is asking him.

"Sure," Zayn says. "Come on, I'll sneak a quickie out the window. I need a break, anyway," Zayn says. His cigarettes are on the dresser next to what's left of their dinner, and he hops off the bed and picks them up, making his way to Liam's bedroom window. 

Liam stretches when he stands, a gap of skin showing where his shirt lifts up. Liam groans as he yawns, little grunts as he rolls his shoulders in their sockets. Zayn knows just by the sound that Liam has pushed himself too hard at practice again, always in pain somewhere on his body even if he pretends he's fine. Zayn has been there for so many of those nights where Liam can barely get off the couch, plaintively pushes out his bottom lip to get Zayn to fetch him a glass of water or change the disc in the DVD player. The noises Liam makes when he hurts are seared in Zayn's mind, tiny signals he picks up on and makes him frown.

When Liam joins Zayn by the window it's already cranked open to the winter night (Liam's parents forbidding smoking in the house) and Zayn's already blowing his first breath of smoke out into the cold. They get close, shoulder to shoulder, and Zayn almost feels nervous.

"He's just – he's really cool," Liam says. He shoves his hands in his pockets and gives a little shrug. "It's hard to put into words sometimes."

"I get that," Zayn says. The air coming in from outside is freezing and it stings against Zayn's knuckles, making goosebumps spring up instantly along his bare arms. "But it's only me, dude. Just – tell me what you're thinking."

"Well, like, he's everything I want to be as a player. He tries _so hard_ , he never slacks off, he's always trying to make himself better," Liam says. He starts slow but the warmth in his voice builds. It's strange because Zayn has seen Liam go through this so many times but he never really paid attention to how Liam looks when he speaks about his heroes. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright, an energy in his body that comes out even though he isn't moving. He thrums with excitement, like it's bubbling in his veins. "He can be really serious but he's funny sometimes, too. And he loves his team, he kills himself standing up for them on and off the ice."

"Mm," Zayn says. He can hear the words, he knows what Liam is saying, but he pays more attention to _how_ Liam says it. It's not just gushing about a hero, there's something longing in Liam's voice, like he's talking about the person he wishes he was. "Sounds kinda familiar to me," Zayn adds between drags on his cigarette. 

"Nah," Liam says quickly, but his cheeks go a bit pinker. "He just doesn't stop. Since he was a kid he knew what he wanted to do and he worked until he got it. Toews is – he's so cool. He's everything I want to be."

Zayn loves this. He loves that it's just the two of them right now talking about this, that all of Liam's warmth is given over to him so easily. It's something that's happened so many times that Zayn can't count (the two of them sitting on the couch while a Blackhawks game is on, Zayn on his phone and Liam almost jumping out of his seat with excitement) but he's never really properly looked at Liam while it happened. He's alive, he's so bright and full of ambition, full of a joy that he so obviously wants to share with Zayn. Zayn kind of hates himself for never really asking until now.

"You're a good captain," Zayn says. The pull he takes of his cigarette crackles as he burns it down, letting out a smooth stream of smoke outside. "You really are. You're so much like him, Mr. Potato Head over there."

Liam blushes and smiles so hard he doesn't even correct Zayn's taunt. "Not really, though," Liam says.

"Come on, you're the daddy. You've got people three years older than you who come to you for advice. You work so hard I bet you can't even lift your left arm above your shoulder right now."

Liam groans. "I think I slept on it weird."

It's not hard coming up with this stuff. Zayn has seen Liam play, has seen him foster the loyalty he has now, growing into himself. "You went from being a twelve year old kid bullied for having nice hockey equipment to having articles written about your leadership qualities in the town paper, man. And I get to watch you, like, become this amazing dude. I get to see you become a real captain."

Liam stays silent at that, taking deep breaths of the fresh winter air coming in through the window. "Zayn," Liam says quietly, a whole sentence in and of itself.

"You'd kill for your teammates. I've seen you come in and back Louis up in fights. I know you were in the hospital with Niall for three days when he was having that operation." Zayn blows out a stream of smoke, a quick shrug like that decides it. He started this whole thing to break down any walls they might have had, to be completely honest with each other, but suddenly this feels so much more important. Zayn needs Liam to know this now, he needs this to get stuck in Liam's head so when they're not together Liam will _know_ , will know this feeling Zayn has in his chest that he doesn't know how to name. "You know you're a hero to some kids out there, right?"

"I don't think so," Liam mumbles, but he slides closer to Zayn anyway. Their bodies are touching, from the round of their shoulders down the length of their arms. Their fingers just brush next to each other, thighs pressed together with the rough scrape of denim. "Zayn, why are you –"

"And I get to be your friend," Zayn says, shrugging again. He taps his ash out the window and sucks in another meditative breath. "And you'll keep growing and getting better and I'll still be your friend."

Liam makes a strangled little noise, one like the pain he gets in his calves or his ribs, but it's something Zayn's never heard before. It's a new wound, one that makes Zayn's insides clench like a fist. "Thanks, man," Liam says finally. "Thanks for –" Zayn closes his eyes, a flutter of eyelashes that lasts a beat too long waiting to hear the other side of that sentence, "– thanks, Zayn."

The pressure against their sides grows, the warmth of Liam nearby bleeding into Zayn's skin as they lean against each other. Slowly, Liam turns his head to press his mouth against Zayn's shoulder, leaving a noiseless kiss there before he rests his chin against the same spot. 

"You'd tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you?" Zayn asks.

Liam takes a bit too long to reply. "Of course." It sounds natural, it sounds _obvious_ but some part of Zayn just feels like there's something they're still not talking about.

"Anything," Zayn says again, wanting Liam to really know. "I'm not going anywhere. This won't change."

"I know it won't," Liam says, his voice trembling on the first few syllables. Fingers touching next to each other, Liam's thumb twitching slightly when Zayn's little finger brushes up against it. "I – I know you wouldn't." 

The last of Zayn's cigarette burns down without being smoked, a half-inch of ash building up because Zayn is too focused on the pressure of Liam's body next to his own. The changes are tiny, just the way they shift next to each other, moving just enough that Zayn can feel every single point of contact between them as they stand together framed in the square of the window and almost shivering from the blowing cold. Zayn doesn't know what it is but he can feel it, this huge unnamed thing that Liam still won't confide in him, this Atlas weight that Zayn can feel in Liam sympathetically. And Zayn hopes he's a good enough friend, and he hates that he hasn't told Liam all of this hundred times before tonight, and he wishes that when Liam said _I know you wouldn't_ it sounded more sure and less like a question.

The coal of the cigarette glows down to Zayn's fingers, a bright ruby of heat where it burns against his skin. Zayn hisses and swears and tosses the cigarette out the window. By the time Zayn starts sucking the burn Liam has already stepped away and gone back to his homework.

*

The house is full of smells for dinner when Zayn steps in. Toasted cumin, the strange summer brightness of tomato, that heavy wet smell of cooked rice; and beneath that his sister's perfume and his father's cigarette smoke and the fake lemon of laundry detergent. It smells like home and immediately Zayn can feel his energy drain out, any energy he had left from the day (and there's not much) fading until Zayn is his plain self like he doesn't have to keep smiling, can just let it out.

Zayn just has time to take off his coat and kick off his boots before Safaa comes running down the hall to hug him around his middle.

"Hey, baby," Zayn says, touching a hand to her silky black hair. She's dressed already in her pink pyjamas, ready for bed, and Zayn crouches down to scoop her into his arms. "You still up?"

"Mom said I could watch _Once Upon a Time_ ," Safaa says. 

"Sounds good to me," Zayn replies and carries her into the living room. 

There are still plates of melted ice cream on the coffee table, glasses of milk half-drunk, leftovers from the dinner that Zayn called to say he would be missing. His dad is sitting on the sofa watching the Canucks game and Waliyha is lying on the carpet doing her homework just like Zayn was doing an hour ago on Liam's bed. It's home, and Zayn can finally breathe.

"Hello," Yaser says, lifting his cup of tea in a salute. "What's wrong?" he asks immediately, knowing Zayn's expressions too well.

"Something's wrong?" Safaa asks, turning to look at Zayn dead on. Her mouth is open in a circle of awe that makes Zayn laugh.

"Nothing's wrong," Zayn says, putting her back down on the ground. "I'm just tired, huh?"

His dad doesn't seem satisfied with that answer even though Safaa is, her laugh of delight loud as she goes running back into the kitchen. Zayn shoves his hands in his pockets and stands on the living room carpet, chewing on his lip as he pretends to be absorbed by the hockey game on TV.

"C'mere, huh?" Yaser says, patting the spot next to him.

Zayn sighs but he shuffles over in socked feet, bouncing down on the couch next to his dad. He might be seventeen but he likes this too much to even pretend he doesn't, no one here to see his embarrassment so he just lets it happen. Yaser puts his hand around Zayn's shoulders and tugs him closer until Zayn is kind of curled into a ball by his side, feet up on the couch and arms circled around his knees and hugging them to his chest.

"What's wrong, Zayn?" Yaser asks again, quieter this time so his sisters won't hear.

"Nothing, dad," Zayn says. His dad smells like that old, spicy cologne he wears to work (faded, only just there) under the louder scent of tobacco. He smokes different cigarettes than Zayn, imported Turkish things with no filter, and the smell of them is so familiar it hurts, a little sour and a little sweet. "Just tired, that's all."

"What did you do today?" Yaser says gently, squeezing Zayn's shoulder when he asks.

"Just hung out with Liam. He had practice then we did our homework, nothing special," Zayn adds, wondering if he sounds as drawn out as he feels. 

"Oh, that's nice," Yaser says. "Liam's a good boy, huh?" 

Zayn almost laughs. His father never fails to say that when Liam gets mentioned, always so sweetly fond of Liam with his manners and his hockey playing, and Zayn never fails to smile when it happens. "Yeah, he's a good kid, dad."

"We don't see him much these days, huh?" Yaser says again. He's still watching the game so he misses the twitch in Zayn's lips, the wince he almost gives. It's so like his dad to accidentally figure out what's bothering Zayn the most, so off-hand he doesn't even realise what he's done. "What, he doesn't like us anymore?" 

"Nah, he's busy, like," Zayn says, his voice hoarse before he clears it with a discreet cough. "He's captain and all. You know he loves you, come on."

The game's only half over but Yaser reaches towards the coffee table and tosses Zayn the channel changer. "Turn on what you like, _jan_."

"Hey!" Safaa yells, coming running from the kitchen. "Daddy, you said it was my turn."

Yaser laughs and gives Zayn a look like this is all his fault, shrugging away his responsibility.

"Well, like, I want to watch _Once Upon a Time_ ," Zayn says, flicking over to the appropriate channel. Safaa cheers and runs to jump up next to Zayn on the couch, curling against his side just like he's doing against his dad's. It really should be embarrassing, to be this kid again, but he feels so solid beside his dad, not protected so much as feeling braver, like his dad trusts him to know how to live responsibly in the world when most of the time Zayn feels like he doesn't have the first clue. 

"It's nice that you have a friend like Liam," Yaser says after a bit, like he's been mulling it over through the opening credits of the show. "It's nice having friends but to have a special friend, that one friend. That's good."

Zayn isn't sure if he's given himself away, if his dad was paying closer attention to Zayn's reactions than he gave him credit for, but that sentence rips a hole in Zayn's chest. It's a gaping, open thing that Zayn wishes he could fill with answers instead of the half-things he managed to tell Liam (feeling so much more in his heart than he's ever been able to actually say, hoping Liam gets it but knowing he doesn't), a tear in his flesh that seems to almost whistle through with winter wind. 

"Yeah, dad," Zayn finally manages to say. "I'm really – I'm lucky. I'm really lucky."

"And he's lucky to have a friend like you," Yaser says in response. When Zayn doesn't reply his dad turns to give him a concentrated stare, a look that Zayn can't turn away from. "I'm being serious, Zayn. You're turning into an incredible young man. He's very lucky. Everyone is lucky to have you. I know I'm very lucky." 

It's impossible to know what to say to that. Zayn feels the sting of tears at the backs of his eyes but he manages to hold on, biting his lip instead. He wants to believe his dad, it would be so easy to believe his dad, but something holds him back. It's the stutter of Liam's word when they're alone together, it's the weight of something going unsaid, it's the tiny changes in the atmosphere of his friendship with Liam like global warming slowly transforming the familiar into the unknown. 

"Thanks, _baba_ ," Zayn mumbles, biting harder on his lower lip when he does.

"These worries will go," Yaser says confidently, so easy that Zayn almost lets himself believe it. "You're young. You'll see."

*

The lunch bell rings and wakes Zayn up from his double civics class. It's the only thing he's taking this semester that doesn't have at least one of his boys in it which makes it his most hated class of the day. It does make it easier to skip out to his locker before all of them get there though, giving him a chance to put his bag away and make his way to noon prayer.

Every lunch break one of the nicer English teachers lets the Muslim students in the school use her classroom as a place for the midday prayer. There are maybe thirty Muslim kids in the whole school but only a dozen of them meet every day. Zayn isn't that diligent in his attendance but he likes to go sometimes, when the mood hits him. It's a good way to clear his head, to right himself again, and Zayn seriously needs some of that now. 

Zayn isn't quick enough, though. As he shoves his books into his locker, Liam and Louis come bounding down the hall after their morning gym class, both of them sweaty and loose and talkative. The five of them have their lockers together in a block, prime real estate that took a lot of work to get (camping out in the football field overnight to make sure they were at locker registration first, that disgustingly hot day in late August where they got drunk and only just remembered to go line up in time), but it's the first time Zayn wishes he had a place for his own. On any other day Zayn would be grinning hugely at them, excited to hear the stupid things that went on without him, but right now he just wants a second of peace to just _think_.

"Hey, man," Louis says, giving Zayn's open palm a quick slap. "Someone ordered subs for lunch and we're gonna steal some. Sick, eh?"

"Actually," Zayn says, stopping Louis before he gets dragged into another grand plan. "I think I'm going to go pray."

Louis nods but he doesn't hide his disappointment well. "Ah, shit. I can't promise there'll be any left, dude."

Zayn laughs and pats Louis' shoulder. "I'm sure I'll survive, Lou."

"Quiznos, not Subway, Zayn," Louis says, trying one last time. "Your favourite."

"Thanks, man," Zayn says, but he shakes his head again. "Like, next time, yeah?"

"Well, fuck," Louis says, smashing his shoulders against the lockers in a huff. "Who else is gonna help me prank order a hundred more subs for the school, then?"

"Sorry," Zayn says with a laugh, closing his locker door. "I'm sure someone will help you."

"Don't look at me," Liam says quickly when Louis frowns and crosses his arms. "I helped you find a way onto the roof, it's not my turn to help you get in trouble."

"Hmm," Louis hums, considering the idea. "Maybe Harry. You sure, Zayn?"

"I won't be long," Zayn says, and he accepts Louis' open arms and gives him a quick hug. "Promise."

"Hey," Liam says, bouncing on his toes eagerly, getting in before Zayn has a chance to sneak away. "Lemme walk you to it, huh?"

Frantically thinking of some reason why Liam _shouldn't_ walk him to the English wing, Zayn comes up with nothing. "Uh, oh – yeah, okay."

"Cool," Liam says, quickly getting in step next to Zayn. 

"I'm not saving anything for you either!" Louis shouts out at Liam, his frown turning a bit wicked. "Leaving me here to hang, honestly, fuck." 

The school hallways are full of people, dozens of fractured cliques clustered around certain decks of lockers, or perched on the benches that line the walls to eat lunch together. It's noisy and cluttered and it makes conversation hard as the two of them make their way through the crowds. 

Liam does seem a bit different today. Happier, maybe, or at least more energetic. He stays closer by Zayn's side, laughing when one of the freshmen (tiny kids, seemingly way too young to be in high school) does a crazy cartwheel down the hall and almost kicks the vice-principal in the face. Liam dashes forward to hold doors open for teachers and custodians and, finally, Zayn. Even though Zayn is still worried – no, not worried, _lost_ – it's amazing how just seeing Liam happy makes Zayn feel better.

"Hey, I talked to Coach," Liam says when they finally turn the corner into the English wing of the school, much quieter than the riot of the main halls. "He said he's cool with you coming with us. You'll have to share a room with someone but there's place for you on the bus."

"Right, cool," Zayn says. Just the thought of it sends a spike of flighty happiness through Zayn, a joy that's a lot like anxiety. He thinks about the hours he'll spend on the bus (sitting next to Liam, obviously) and the two nights in Ottawa he'll spend sharing a room (with Liam, obviously) and it sends this incredible burst of nerves through him, all bright and alive like stars at the back of his mind. He's done all this before, gone on a trip with the team and he loved it, but this time feels different. When he looks at Liam and imagines them having a rowdy boys' night in Ottawa it makes Zayn's heart hammer, it makes his palms sweat. He doesn't know why, he just knows how different it feels to be near Liam now. 

"You still wanna come, don't you?" Liam asks, his enthusiasm suddenly halted as they stop in front of the closed door to the classroom.

"Of course, man," Zayn says, the words coming easy despite the weight. Zayn meets Liam's offered fist bump. "It'll be great."

"Awesome," Liam says. "So, we'll see you after prayer?"

"Done," Zayn says, bumping fists with Liam a second time. "Thanks, Liam."

"Later, Zayn."

Finally stepping into the English room and closing the door behind him, Zayn takes a deep breath and blows it out slowly. It's nice in here, all the desks have been moved to the sides of the room and some of the students in the Arabic Club are spreading prayer mats out on the bare linoleum floor, lined up to face the bay of open windows facing east. They're still milling about, a handful of minutes left before noon, and Zayn quietly chooses a red and brown mat by the back of the classroom and toes off his shoes, socked feet cold against the floor.

Taking a few calming breaths, Zayn tries to let his mind go blank. There are so many things whizzing around his head – Liam, Ottawa, the talk he had with his dad, with Niall, hockey, fuck, thousands of things – that Zayn has a hard time finding that place of peace inside himself. 

He just can't shake the thought of Liam, though. The way his smile gets bigger when Zayn turns to look at him. The worries he has about being a good captain. The way every time he touches Zayn it seems so deliberately thought out; not the rambunctious flailing affection he has with Louis or Niall or Harry, but a softer touch, like he wants Zayn to understand something every time skin touches skin. 

It's different this time, though. Hanging out with Liam has always been easier than anything, simpler than even being on his own. Zayn never had to think about anything, he always knew that the way he acted and the things he said were _safe_ with Liam, that he could be exactly his own self and Liam would be there to love him for it. That's the hardest thing to take with change, Zayn suddenly finding himself questioning what he's doing, who he is. When Liam is vulnerable and saying _it's nothing_ , when Liam gives him that troubled look when they lock eyes for too long, when Liam stammers and changes the subject when Zayn tries to get him to open up; it's all entirely new, and Zayn knows deep down that it's his fucking fault.

Deep breaths.

There's a knocking on the back door of the class, only a few minutes before noon. Everyone turns around, and when Zayn does a quick one-eighty he sees Liam's face framed in the window of the door. He's grinning at Zayn, giving an enthusiastic wave before he presses his face against the glass. Puffing out his cheeks and crossing his eyes, Liam smushes his nose against the window, flattening it and making him look so stupid Zayn can't help but laugh. 

Zayn waves him off and Liam departs with a laugh that Zayn can hear through the heavy metal door, but the damage is done. As Zayn steps onto his mat he can't keep Liam out of his head, he can't stop thinking about the little things like that that suddenly mean the most. He can't stop thinking that if it's his fault Liam will fidget and avoid it's also kind of his fault that Liam will laugh and grin. He can't stop thinking that he won't let go, he won't let go of this boy he's known half of his life. He won't let anything change.

When Zayn finally closes his eyes and begins to recite the opening prayer, his mind is crystal clear.

*

Zayn is the last to swing into their usual corner booth at Pizza Pizza. The sun is already setting even though they just got out of school, the last light of the day making the fluorescent orange of the plastic booth sets and the checkerboard tiles glow like a sunset. The smell of grease and oregano is overpowering, the kind of smell that sticks in Zayn's clothes, a good distraction when his mother sniffs his jacket trying to smell cigarette smoke on him.

It's the usual routine after school, making the quick two minute drive from the school to a strip-mall (Beer Store, used clothes, dentist, Pizza Pizza, Chinese food) where the five of them pool their cash together, usually enough to scrape together enough money for three slices and a couple of cans of coke they all share. It's Friday so the place is packed, but they're seniors and Liam and Louis carry a kind of mythical status, just missing the gold halos of an icon, which means they always get their spot.

Harry is struggling out of his winter coat while Louis starts pooling their resources, swearing at Harry every time a stray elbow slams Louis in the side and he drops the coins he was counting on the table. Niall, sitting beside Zayn on the inside of the booth, has finally found a way to sit with his cast that isn't too clunky, his crutches leaning on the wall next to their table. Liam – crushed in on Harry's other side, in the corner of the restaurant – seems kind of distracted, his attention roaming as he sits in the puff of his jacket, too cramped to try to take if off. 

It's not something Zayn is used to. He's seen Liam at his best and his worst, a shining brilliant boy and a wreck as he cries angrily into Zayn's shoulder, but Zayn feels apart from Liam's emotions for the first time in a long while. When he looks at Liam he just doesn't know what he's looking at, not sure what to make of the swing from the day's manic energy into this collapsed star. Zayn doesn't know how to react, like the tuning on his radio is off and instead of a clear signal he just gets static from Liam now. 

Zayn keeps his eyes on Liam even as he slips out of his jacket, hoping to catch Liam's glance to give him a raised eyebrow, a _how's it going_ he knows he can communicate without anyone else noticing. Liam never looks his way.

There's a sharp jab at Zayn's side that shocks him out of his one-sided staring contest.

"Zayn?" Louis asks.

Niall is smiling apologetically at Zayn, now rubbing the spot he jabbed in Zayn's ribs. "You got any money, dude?" he asks.

"Yeah, sorry," Zayn says. He lifts his hips off the plastic seats to dig through the pocket of his tight jeans, finding a crumpled up five dollar bill and a toonie that he tosses into the pot. 

"Shit," Louis says, grinning up at Zayn. "We got enough for all of us, I think. Thanks, man."

Zayn shrugs. "For all the Starbucks I owe you."

"You owe me way more than seven bucks," Louis says and Zayn shrugs with a smirk. Pocketing the bills, Louis pushes the coins off the table into his palm. He gives Zayn a quick wink before giving the money to Harry. "Don't get anything shitty," Louis instructs.

"No peppers," Niall says. 

"Lots of meat," Louis adds.

"No mushrooms," Zayn adds.

There's a beat of silence as Harry looks at Liam, like he's missing a verse in the song they're singing. Louis, always hating silence, pinches Liam's thigh under the table. Liam does a sweet little bounce like they've woken him up, blinking slowly. 

"What did I miss?" Liam asks, looking around between them.

"What do you want on your pizza?" Harry asks.

Liam thinks for a second and when he opens his mouth to talk so do Niall and Louis: "Cheese and pepperoni," all three of them say in unison, making them all crack up. Zayn laughs too, looking down at his lap where his hands are fidgeting, picking at the rough edges of his nails, and back up to where Liam is blushing a bit.

"Of course," Harry says, nodding like a waiter taking down his order. "And to drink?"

"Coke Zero," Louis and Niall say in unison again.

"Dunno why you even ask," Liam mumbles, a smile just creasing the corner of his mouth.

Louis goes in on that hard, always making fun of Liam when he dares get soft in front of him. Louis grabs Liam around the neck and pulls him in for a vice-grip of a hug, kissing the bristly hair on the top of his head. Liam tries to bat him away but he never gives it his all, Zayn knowing that he loves the attention too much to pretend he doesn't actually want it. It's how Zayn notices Liam's expression when Louis finally pulls away, that flicker of worry that passes through him, almost like he doesn't want Louis to let go. 

Niall pats Zayn's knee under the table. Turning away from Liam (his playfighting with Louis calming down, leaving Louis pressed up next to him and dozily talking to him about the upcoming game, his head on Liam's shoulder), Zayn meets Niall's smile. Raising his eyebrows, Zayn can see Niall's eyes dart to Liam and back, a question asked with just the twitch of the corner of his lips.

Zayn shrugs in reply, not quite sure what Niall is asking, but whatever it is Zayn's pretty sure he doesn't have an answer. 

"You tell him yet?" Niall asks, barely a whisper, barely anything. Zayn only just understands him from the shape his lips make, but even with such a featherweight touch, the question sticks in Zayn's guts. 

Zayn wavers his palm side to side, _sort of_ , and he feels a frown tighten against his mouth. 

Niall gives an encouraging little nod, a gesture of his chin towards Liam. 

Zayn blanks. He tries to get his confusion across but Niall just laughs and shakes his head, patting Zayn's knee again. _You'll get it_ , Niall seems to whisper. It's fucking confusing and Zayn still isn't sure what either of them were just saying in their makeshift sign language (this is nothing like the silent conversations he can have with Liam, or, rather, used to have), but he's left with a feeling of anticipation, like Niall has given him a task and there's something he ought to do. 

"Hey, uh," Zayn says, interrupting Louis and Liam's conversation. It's just in time for Harry to return with their five slices of pizza, balancing them one on top of the other, with a plastic bag filled with cans of pop. "What are we doing after this?" Zayn asks as Louis pushes away from Liam (a friendly shove as he does) and helps Harry divide up the food.

"Dunno," Louis says, looking up at Harry. "Babe?"

"You guys have a game tomorrow," Harry says, sliding each piece of pizza across the table. The bottoms of the cardboard plates are smeared with grease and leave trails like slugs that Harry, always thoughtful, wipes up with a fistful of napkins. "But I don't think there are any parties anyway."

"Wanna go skating on Ramsey Lake?" Zayn says carefully, like he's asking his dad for permission to use the family car.

"Seriously?" Louis asks, already chewing on a huge mouthful of his pizza. " _You_? Want to _skate_?"

"You feeling okay?" Harry asks, finally sliding into the booth next to Louis now that he's handed out all their sweating cans of pop. 

"Shut up," Zayn says. "I know how to skate."

"No you don't," Louis says matter-of-factly, mouth full of food.

"Fuck off," Zayn says, waving Louis away.

"Are you being serious?" Harry asks again, leaning across the table towards Zayn like he's about to touch his forehead to look for a fever. 

"Seriously, fuck all of you, I thought it would be fun," Zayn says, falling back into his seat and crossing his arms. "Whatever."

Niall, perfect fucking Niall with his hand still close enough to Zayn' thigh to give it a little squeeze, gives Louis the middle finger. "Fuck you, it sounds great," Niall says. "Some hot chocolate, some Beaver Tails, I say we do it."

"You can't even skate," Louis points out. "You've got a busted leg, man."

Niall waves that away like it's nothing. "You haven't seen what I can do on these babies." Looking around the table, Niall nods at Harry who shrugs and says "sure", and Louis who laughs and nods along while simultaneously shooting Zayn a wicked little smirk. "Liam?" Niall finally asks.

"You really wanna go skating, Zaynie?" Liam asks from his bundle of fluffy winter jacket, fur collar tickling against his neck. 

"Do _you_ want to?" Zayn asks, feeling strange to have Liam address him so directly while the rest of the boys watch. 

"Sure," Liam says as he struggles to lift himself out of his slouch, emerging from his big black downy coat. When he smiles Zayn can _feel_ the change, an old feeling that was missing. It comes back to Zayn like sliding into a warm bath, Liam's eyes shining and his friendship the right shape again, filling that pathetic little hole Zayn's been carrying around with him for this entire week. 

"Sweet," Louis says, slapping his hand on the table like a judge's gavel. "Fucking Zayn coming up with some good ideas, hey."

"Yo," Zayn shoots back, finally picking up his piece of pizza. "You fucking love my ideas."

"It's true," Louis says, elbowing Harry in the side. "Remember towing that toboggan behind the truck?"

"I remember falling off a lot and bruising every part of my body," Harry says. 

Louis' sigh is long and fond. "Yeah, you're terrible, babe." 

"Can you believe Niall wore a Toronto jersey today?" Liam pipes up, leaning closer to Louis now like he's pulling himself back in the circle, joining the group again as he finally looks at Zayn. "What's up with that?"

"Shut up, hey, I'm allowed to like the Leafs," Niall says, putting his hands to his chest to touch the embossed shield of a silver leaf. "Canadian team and all."

"We should have rules," Liam says. "Like _Mean Girls_. You can't sit with us if you wear a Leafs jersey." 

Louis and Harry crack up, spitting out bits of pizza as they try not to choke. Niall glares at Liam, a growling, happy bearing of the teeth as he says "at least I don't love a fuckin' American team" which is just one straw too many. Liam makes a little noise like betrayal and reaches across the table to try to grab Niall, missing by feet as Niall leans away, swiping at him and almost knocking over all their drinks.

Slouching back in his seat Zayn watches the fight unfold, his ribs hurting from laughter. Pieces of pepperoni and congealed cheese get flung from one side of the table to the other, everyone taking sides for a few seconds before turning on each other as little bits of crust get caught in their hair. Louis absolutely cackles when Liam gets a big round spot of tomato sauce in the middle of Niall's silver maple leaf.

By the time they've spent their energy, sinking back into their seats like they're out of breath, Zayn's cheeks ache. Glancing across the table he catches Liam's eyes and gives him an amused little waggle of his eyebrows that Liam quickly returns. He can almost feel the burning warmth of Liam smile, can see the light play in his eyes even in this under these awful fluorescent lights. It's amazing how good it can feel to be doing something so ordinary, this afternoon as simple and forgettable as the hundreds of ones that came before, knowing that the happiness he feels can be shared so easily.

*

It's dark by the time they reach Ramsey Lake. They make it to the lake just in time for the rush of people freshly off work and school, the snow just starting to fall when Liam pulls up in the parking lot. It's all big flakes, soft and wet, blurring out all the crisp shapes and making fuzzy balls out of the streetlights, like a fairy tale winter's night.

Louis and Harry are the first to wriggle out of the tight back seats of the pick-up, hopping outside and stretching. Louis, closest in shoe size to Zayn, packed an extra pair of his old hockey skates when they stopped by his house, and as Zayn looks at them piled in his lap – beat up, laces frayed, plastic bladeguards latched up against the heel – he wonders if this was such a good plan. 

Truth is, the idea came so quickly to Zayn, it was just something impulsive to make Liam smile, but now he's kind of regretting it as he remembers everything he hates about snow and ice and the ankle-twisting torture of skating. He almost wants to bail on the whole thing, but he catches sight of Liam's smile in the rear view mirror and it's enough to give Zayn the strength he needs to jump out of the truck and tackle this head-on.

"This was a really good idea," Harry says, reaching into the flatbed of the truck to grab his own skates. "Zayn, this was a really good idea."

"Yeah," Louis says, eyeing Zayn up as he gets out of the backseat. "What made you think of it, huh?"

"Sometimes I think about people other than myself," Zayn says, getting a good elbow in Louis' ribs.

"So, there's no other reason you wanted to go skating?" Louis says, slinging his skates over his shoulder by the laces. "No one you're trying to impress, huh?"

Zayn narrows his eyes. Louis is wearing the kind of smile he gets when he _knows something_ , the way Niall looked when he tapped Zayn's knee under the table and raised his eyebrows in Liam's direction when they were eating pizza. It's starting to bother Zayn now, seemingly everyone knowing something that he doesn't, all those hockey player talks and inside jokes from the team that Zayn knows he'll never really get a chance to be included in. 

"Trust me," Zayn says calmly, putting an arm around Louis' shoulder and tugging him in. "There's nobody out here who's going to be impressed with my skating."

Louis laughs, knocking the side of his head against Zayn's. "I'm proud of you for even suggesting this, man. Never thought I'd see the day my little Zaynie laced up again."

"Yeah, well," Zayn says, glancing back towards the truck. Liam is at the passenger door, carefully helping Niall climb out, almost carrying him from the seat as Harry rushes over with the crutches they stored in the flatbed. Niall steadies himself with his crutches, gains his bearings before leaning up and giving Liam a one-armed hug, kissing his cheek. 

No one is even looking at Zayn right now, but his cheeks burn anyway. It's not that he forgets the kind of person Liam is, it's just that sometimes he's reminded of it (like the way he'll talk to Zayn's dad for an hour about astronomy or engineering even though he doesn't know a thing about them; the way he always steps in whenever he sees someone getting bullied; the gentle and patient way he is around dogs and children) and it somehow always makes Zayn's heart skip.

"It'll be fun, don't worry," Harry says, stepping in on Zayn's other side, getting an arm around his shoulders as well.

"Kind of inevitable, you know?" Zayn says. "Keeping the friends I do."

"Sudbury Wolves," Louis suddenly calls out, huffing out a few throaty barks.

"Wolves!" Niall joins in, and Liam too as they round the back of the truck. Liam walks a half-step behind Niall, a hand hovering at the small of his back, ready to grab him if the ice turns out to be too much.

"Yeah," Zayn says, trying hard not to roll his eyes. Liam is carrying his own skates as well as Zayn's, lifting them hopefully with a little smile. "Wolves."

"Come on," Louis urges Zayn on. "If you're on the team, you need to howl."

"Not a chance," Zayn says.

"Come on," Niall says, his crutches scraping against the snow as he swings around to face Zayn.

"I'm not even on your fucking team, I'm just a fan –" Zayn says.

"Yeah, you are," Liam says instantly. "You are definitely on the team."

Zayn struggles to keep his smile in check. He can hear the low, slow beginning of a _Wolves_ chant come on from Louis and Harry, but that's not really why he gives in. 

Zayn lets out a pathetic little howl, a trailing _awoooo_ that he hopes no one else notices, but Liam grins and seems so fucking pleased that Zayn gives another, a bit louder, loud enough that he gets funny looks from the people around them. And to be honest, Zayn doesn't give a fuck who sees him.

*

The Winter Carnival is still underway and the small part of the lake that's been cordoned off for free skating is lit up like it's still Christmas, a lingering spirit of it dragging into January. Gold and silver in the trees, families swinging kids between their arms, big red velvet bows like the lake is a present to be unwrapped. The snow settling on everything makes it feel a lot more like a winter vacation and not just some January afternoon, like Zayn could lose himself to the soft magic of the night, never having to think about tomorrow.

Apart from the big floodlights that make the ice glow heavenly white, everything is strung up with long chains of coloured balls, big swooping parabolas of yellow and red and green swinging in the wind between each lamppost and cabin. Everything is out in full force, a tiny little Swiss town right there on the frozen lake: concession stands selling hot chocolate and donuts; benches and skate rentals; small change rooms made to look like log cabins. It's like stepping into a child's fantasy of the perfect Christmas.

They make it down the stairs in one piece, helping Niall navigate the clanging iron steps and out on the rough scrape of the lake. It's not like the ice of a skating rink, it's all potholes and fissures, bumpy ice that needs confidence to conquer. Even with his heavy leather boots Zayn feels uncomfortable on the lake, his feet slipping out awkwardly with each step he makes, the crunch of broken chunks of ice and snow making his legs shake.

Finding two empty benches close together, the five of them sit down and start lacing up their skates. Louis tosses his boots aside, flinging them over his shoulders just to get Harry to laugh (and succeeding) while Liam slides out of his boots and gets to work on his laces. There are places to store their boots but the honour system seems to be in place here, so they pile all their belongings under the bench together, tucked up safe in shadow.

Louis and Liam are quick to lace up their skates, bare fingers in the cold making quick snapping motions, fierce tugs at the laces to get them tightly bound. It's amazing to watch, their precision is professional, like watching someone in the movies take a gun apart and put it back together as easy as anything. Louis is first on his feet, making quick little footfalls on the ice as he pushes away from the bench.

Harry isn't long behind them, his laces done tight and clean as he races Louis out onto the ice.

"How are you even going to do this, Niall?" Harry asks as he swings by the bench again, as good a skater as Louis even though he doesn't play hockey. "Can I help or anything?"

"Nah, look here," Niall says. With a few awkward moves, he leans down and with a _click_ , flicks a switch at the base of his crutches. "Ice picks, hey," he says, showing off the sharp tip at the end of each crutch. "Can handle myself, eh?"

"That's wicked," Harry says, skating in close to Niall, leaning down to inspect them. "Please don't mess up your other knee though, babe. My dad would kill the both of us if he knew what we were doing."

"Ah, leave him," Louis says, skating in fast and stopping quick, his skate shaving off a wave of ice. "My boy knows more about this than fuckin' Snow Miser." 

Niall gives a huge laugh, head thrown back, and sure enough he almost slips. Harry is quick by his side, grabbing his arm and keeping him safe.

"Oh God," Harry says as he watches Niall take his first steps onto the ice. "My dad's going to kill me on principal alone."

Even through his woolly socks, Zayn's feet are fucking freezing and he makes sure to keep them hovering above the ice, looking down at the messy knots of his skates. He manages to get them both on with a bit of struggle (Louis' feet still too small, his toes squeezed tight) but his fingers are numb by the time he gets to the laces. They're not like shoelaces at all, they're much longer and stiffer than anything he's touched before. 

After his first try ends in disaster (missing a loop, not nearly tight enough) Zayn kind of slumps forward, defeated. "Well, fuck this."

"Hey," Liam says. He's already taken his first skate around the ice, a big circle that Zayn watched from the bench, and now he stops with a rasp of ice in front of Zayn. "Want me to do them up? They can be tricky."

It's how it always goes. Zayn, right on the edge of saying _no_ , so close to giving up on something, but then Liam is there just in the nick of time, like he knows what Zayn is thinking, offering just enough of a smile to get Zayn going again. It happens all the time: class presentations, public speaking, singing in choir, all these things that make Zayn's chest seize up as he tells himself _you can't do this, you can't do this_ , and just when it seems like everything is about to break Liam will be right there by his side, not even saying anything, just looking Zayn in the eyes and smiling like he's never been so sure of anything in his life.

It's how Zayn went from singing in the shower to singing in a talent show when he was thirteen; it's how Zayn went from standing awkwardly at the edges of the party to dancing like a fucking idiot in the middle of a crowd.

It's so much easier believing in himself if he knows Liam does too.

"Fuck, please," Zayn says. "I can't feel my fingers."

Liam laughs softly, his breath coming out in little huffs of fog. "No problem, dude."

Dropping to his knees, Liam bends over Zayn's unlaced skates. Pulling off his gloves, Liam's bare fingers nimbly start to unknot the mess Zayn has made, and Zayn winces just thinking about how cold his hands must be right now. 

It's only then, when Zayn looks up from Liam and awkwardly glances around the lake, that he realises how compromising this must look right now, Liam bowed down in front of him with his head nestled between Zayn's knees.

Zayn can hear Louis laugh and Zayn's face feels hot and cold all at once. He gives Louis the middle finger but Louis just blows a kiss in return.

"They laughing at me?" Liam asks, still buried in his work.

"They sure are," Zayn replies.

"Assholes," Liam says fondly. "You really made a mess of these, Zayn."

"Sorry," Zayn says. "Seventeen and I can't even fucking do up my shoelaces."

"Nah," Liam says. "You just need practice. It's a lot harder than shoelaces."

"They're still laughing," Zayn says, looking up at Louis and drawing a finger across his throat in a way he hopes is menacing.

"You give them the finger?" Liam asks.

"Sure did."

"That's my boy," Liam says with another laugh that Zayn only sees in another fogged breath. "Almost done, Zayn, promise."

Finally bored of Louis and Niall's teasing, Zayn looks down at where Liam is working. Head bowed and hood down, Zayn gets a good view of the bristle of Liam's buzzcut, the little nicks and scars at the nape of his nick that just show through his short-cropped hair. There are freckles on the back of his neck as well, his skin lit orange by the strings of Christmas lights above, and Zayn knows the pattern of those marks like a navigator knows the shape of the night sky. He remembers them from years of friendship, from crashing in the same bed as Liam while the moon makes all of those freckles and tiny scars glow, hours of sleeplessness as he stares at Liam's back. 

Zayn almost touches those freckles before he realises how stupid that would look, but he still can't keep his eyes off of Liam's shoulders: the shadowed caverns between his skin and his jacket, the shape of his muscles, the first notch at the top of his spine.

It's not something Zayn is used to, sitting on a frozen lake with Liam crouched at his feet, but the feeling is somehow familiar. When Liam focuses all of his attention on Zayn it almost has its own weight, like Liam's focus is an actual a physical force Zayn can feel. It's like the pressure of something hard pressing against him, but not limited to just one place on his body. As Liam tugs the laces tight just the way Zayn saw him do with his own, it's almost as if Liam's doing the same thing to Zayn's chest, binding his heart so tight it's like a fist squeezing his ribcage.

Liam's work is quick and precise, and Zayn can't get over how good it feels to have Liam do something just for him. They're out here in this public place with all of these people who know how to skate, but instead of joining them Liam is using his years of experience to make sure Zayn can experience the night with him. Zayn won't be on the sidelines this time, not in the stands watching a hockey team practice, but actually out here in the cold with him. 

For the first time since they parked the truck in front of the lake, Zayn doesn't even give a shit if he's going to fall down a hundred times and fuck up his ankles for weeks. No, that doesn't matter at all, because right now he just wants to try to live up to the expertly tied laces Liam leaves him with.

*

Zayn falls down a hundred times. Zayn fucks up his ankles for a week. But after half an hour he can actually skate forwards for a good – oh, it must be thirty paces before he hits a bump and goes down hard on his ass again. Luckily, it's already numb.

"Fuck," Zayn says, sitting on the ice and deciding that it's okay if he never moves again.

Louis and Harry are already pretty far ahead but Liam has been hanging back with Niall and Zayn. Even on crutches Niall is making better time than Zayn, finding a way to use the hard bottom of his cast as a single skate, pushing himself along like oars in a canoe.

"Need help?" Liam asks with a smile, coming to a stop by Zayn's side.

"I think I'll just say here, actually," Zayn says. A few kids – couldn't be older than seven – skate by Zayn, and he can hear them laughing. "Yeah, this looks like a good place to chill."

"Chill," Liam says with a laugh. "I get it. Come on, grab my hand, we're falling behind."

Zayn sighs but he still reaches out and takes Liam's hand, his mittens warm against Zayn's frozen fingers. He's up on his feet again but the sides of the skates still cut painfully into the skin by his ankles and Zayn wobbles a little before Liam catches him. 

"It's hopeless, man," Zayn says.

"No, it isn't," Liam says simply. "Gimme your arm."

Zayn can already feel Louis' laughter but he does it anyway, linking his arm with Liam's. Liam holds on to him close, with both of his hands holding Zayn's arm and keeping him standing. Zayn can only sort of see Liam's face, half-shadowed in the Christmas lights, but he can definitely see his smile. 

"So, I just follow your lead?" Zayn asks.

"Yep, we'll go slow," Liam says patiently, in a way that makes Zayn remember that Liam is a team captain. "Just hold on tight, okay?"

Holding on tight isn't hard at all because it's the only thing that keeps Zayn from falling on his ass again. Liam takes it very slow, pushing with his skates at a speed Zayn can match. He shakes a lot but Liam is so surefooted on the ice it doesn't seem to matter, and he corrects every mistake Zayn makes with just the twitch of his body or a step with his skate. 

Soon they find a rhythm that works together. Liam does most of the work and Zayn just tries to keep his skates pointing forward, Liam basically towing him along for the ride. It works though, and even over the bumpy surface of the ice they manage to get to a good walking pace, Liam's strides so confident and sure that Zayn begins to feel why skating might actually be fun. It's freeing, moving like this, just drifting along like a leaf in a river. He might not be doing any work, but there's cold wind in his hair and the world seems to skim by.

Zayn remembers how Liam and Louis were on the hockey rink together, in sync, moving as one as they skated side by side. It feels like that right now, Zayn beginning to anticipate each of Liam's strides so he can match them too. It's almost like Zayn can feel Liam's pulse in the crunch of his skate on the ice, and he finds his own breathing matching Liam beat for beat. They're linked up together, a shared fate, and Zayn knows that if he fell, Liam would go down too. 

But they don't fall. They just keep going.

"Don't look now," Liam says. "But you're skating, Zayn."

It's unsteady, it wouldn't even work if Liam weren't there, but Zayn really is kind of skating. He's not just being dragged along, he's actually making the steps with Liam and they start to build speed.

"I can – I can kind of see why you like this," Zayn manages to say, trying to keep all of his concentration on not falling.

"What did you just say?" Liam asks, a bright and happy laugh.

"Shut up, I didn't say anything," Zayn says. He hits a bump and almost loses it but Liam keeps him steady. "Don't let go," Zayn says, annoyed at the surge of panic that sparks in his voice.

"I won't let go," Liam says. Zayn can feel him squeeze his arm a bit tighter, a reassurance. "We're almost at the picnic tables, man. We can do it."

"Don't let go," Zayn says again, clinging to Liam's side.

"I won't," Liam says. "Not ever, Zayn."

"Fuck, I'm gonna fall."

"No, you're not, Zayn."

"Holy fuck, we're fucking skating," Zayn says, this sudden thrill in his voice he can't contain.

"Yeah," Liam says, so warm it almost gets the chill out of Zayn's bones. "We are."

*

Louis, Niall, and Harry are already sitting at one of the picnic tables with five paper cups of steaming hot chocolate by the time Zayn and Liam reach them. It was a rocky ride and letting go of Liam suddenly fills Zayn with dread, but he manages to unhook his arm from Liam's (Liam very careful to watch him go, hovering behind him just in case) and make a few awkward steps until he falls onto the bench next to Niall.

The round of applause Zayn gets actually seems sincere, but Zayn still throws them a middle finger. "All right, shut up, shut up."

"You were amazing," Harry says, his voice deep and sure. "My first time was nowhere near as good."

"Yeah, well, I'm not seven years old," Zayn says. His ankles are killing him, his too small skates digging into his skin as he wobbled on the ice. Zayn lifts his feet to take the pressure off and almost moans it feels so good. "You don't even play hockey and you're as good as any of them."

"Yeah, well, six years of figure skating, eh?" Harry says, smiling when Louis laughs.

"You took figure skating?" Zayn asks. "How do I not know that?"

"Well, it wasn't really that big a deal," Harry says thoughtfully. "It was just for fun."

"Don't worry, we only found out a few months ago," Louis says, handing Zayn a cup of hot chocolate. "You should see him, he's actually pretty good."

"Nothing to be ashamed about," Liam says as he sits in next to Harry, putting an arm around him and squeezing. "He can actually do the jumps and everything."

"Jeff Skinner," Niall says thoughtfully. "Carolina Hurricanes. He was a figure skater, and now he plays hockey. You could always make the switch, Harry."

"Nah, I'm okay," Harry says. "I'm much better as equipment manager. I feel like, you know, my skills are in making you all feel really special and great. That's what I'm good at."

"He is very good at it, too," Louis adds, resting his head on Harry's shoulder.

Their huddle around the table is close, fogged breath and steaming drinks in the circle of their bowed heads as they shut out the rest of the world. It's dark and difficult to see, the only thing Zayn is sure of is the flash of teeth when someone smiles. The strings of lights don't do much to illuminate the place but it does make the soft fur of their coat collars shine orange and purple, and it files the edge off everything like a shot of vodka, and it makes this place feel kind of special. 

Zayn has never been in a place like this before. It's one of those Canadian things that never quite clicked with him, like curling or bad beer or the Tragically Hip. Even his father loves hockey and Molson, but Zayn never quite caught the bug, always feeling somehow one step away from the Canadian experience. All the adverts, all the speeches by politicians hitting key points about _being Canadian_ , all the TV shows and movies made for Canadian content, they somehow always rang false to Zayn, pushing him away bit by bit, always knowing that he doesn't quite belong. 

Even now, in this fantasy, he kind of feels like a visitor.

"So how'd you like it?" Niall asks, already finished his hot chocolate and stealing sips from Zayn's. 

"I hurt all fucking over," Zayn says, which gets them all laughing. "I don't know. It was all right. It wasn't like I expected."

"Zayn said he liked it," Liam tells the group.

"I said I can see why _you_ like it," Zayn says. "Not the same thing."

"Close enough," Liam says, grinning across the table at Zayn. "You did so good out there, Zaynie."

"I fell, like, a thousand times," Zayn says.

"So?" Louis says.

"I don't know, whatever," Zayn says, brushing them off. "It's just not really my style. Not Canadian enough, I guess."

"What does skating have to do with being Canadian?" Liam asks, his eyebrows lifting and his mouth going soft like he's genuinely curious.

Zayn tries to find the words for Liam but he comes up empty, just shrugs it off and takes his hot chocolate back from Niall, elbowing him in the ribs for his trouble. Liam frowns like he doesn't want to drop the issue, but he doesn't say anything more.

"So, where do we go from here?" Louis asks, smashing his empty cup with his fist. "I think we've tortured Zayn enough for one night."

Zayn rolls his eyes but inside he just loves Louis so much right now. Another half hour of skating and Zayn would gladly chop his feet off at the ankle. 

Everyone shrugs, the kind of _I don't know_ Zayn associates with Sunday afternoons with nothing to do, the five of them bored together and in the mood to do something but not wanting to move. The magic has worn off a bit but Zayn doesn't want it to just end now, he's just gotten used to the idea of getting Liam to smile and he doesn't want to stop. 

"I'm sure my dad's got a fire going," Niall says. "We can go warm up at mine and just chill out, if you want."

"Sounds good to me," Louis says instantly. He looks around the circle, pointing finger guns at everyone he passes. "Chill out at Niall's? Good idea?"

Harry nods, and Liam too. Zayn makes sure to look at Liam before he says anything, seeing the way Liam's smile trails off, that same little worry in his eyes like he doesn't want to be left alone. It's how he gets when he's fooling around with Louis, how he never seems to want it to end; or the way he clung to Zayn's arm until the very last second when they were skating, like he didn't want the moment to stop. It's the same panic Zayn remembers Liam getting in the split second after he asks Zayn to crash for the night and before Zayn says _yeah, sure_. 

And then it makes sense: Liam doesn't want to be left alone.

"I'm sold," Zayn says firmly.

"All right, well, back to the truck, then," Louis says, standing up and carefully swinging a skate over the edge of the bench.

"Wait, what?" Zayn says. "We have to go _back_?"

Another chorus of laughter as the boys all climb out from the picnic table and back onto the ice. Zayn doesn't move, just looks down at his feet and wonders if maybe he can crawl back, or if they'd be willing to come pick him up here.

Liam skates a short circle around the table to slide in next to Zayn, his smile creasing his cheeks with dimples. "Don't worry, man. Jump on," he says, as he spins around to show his back to Zayn, crouching down a little.

Never has the difference between Liam's giant hockey muscles and Zayn's scrawny chain-smoking body been so distinct. The hurt in Zayn's legs overwhelms his sense of dignity, though, so he gladly hops up on Liam's back, pride be damned.

Liam gets his hands up under Zayn's thighs, hitches him up to a more comfortable position. Zayn circles his arms around Liam's chest and links his hands together, locking tightly around him.

This is happening.

And it's even better than skating beside Liam. Zayn can feel all of Liam's muscles when he skates, can feel the push of his legs and the heaving of his chest as he takes long, even breaths. Liam doesn't even seem that hindered by Zayn's weight, skating as easily as he did on his own. Zayn fits his head on Liam's shoulder and tucks his face into the warm of Liam's hood and the cool of his red cheeks. He smells like sweat and chocolate and something nice and boyish Zayn remembers from nights of being tucked up with him in bed. 

"Ready?" Liam asks.

"Mush, dog team," Zayn says, ready for the short Iditarod back to where they parked the truck. "Mush."

Liam really pushes, going so fast Zayn would be worried if Liam didn't have such a tight hold on him. They whiz by Niall and his kayaking crutches, catching up to Louis and Harry easily. The wind pushes Zayn's hair back and the air is stinging cold on his cheeks but he can't help but laugh, his breath warm on the cold skin at the back of Liam's neck. 

Turns out that this is the kind of skating Zayn likes best: together with Liam, racing Louis and Harry, feeling Liam's whole body work. Muscle and heat and cold, laughter as Liam loses himself to it too, and nothing hurts and everything just feels so great. It's like letting go, just the way Liam described the calm that comes over him when he's on the ice.

"Having fun?" Liam asks happily, his breathing heavy but not showing any signs of stopping.

Instead of answering, Zayn leans forward and plants a loud kiss on Liam's cheek. 

Zayn wouldn't change a single thing about this night. Here he is with Liam, on the ice and acting a fool, and it doesn't even feel that weird. Zayn might hate the winter but this is a game they find together and make personal and important and hilarious. It's the first time in a few weeks that Zayn has been with Liam and really felt like there's nothing hidden between them, not anymore, not if they can find this kind of peace.

*

By the time they reach Niall's house, the sweat from the exercise on the lake has gone cold and it leaves a deep chill in Zayn's bones. His teeth chatter for the last couple of minutes before they pull into Niall's driveway and tumble out of Liam's old truck, slipping and sliding on the patches of black ice, ungainly now that they're out of their skates.

Zayn must not be the only one feeling it, because Harry and Louis almost race each other to the front door, Louis chasing Harry with his hands firmly on his shoulders.

" _Ni-all_ ," Louis whines in a sing-song, hopping from foot to foot in the cold. "It's _lo-ocked_."

Liam is still helping Niall with his crutches and giving him a hand out of the truck, so Niall fishes his keys out of his pocket and tosses them at Louis.

Fingers trembling, Louis unlocks the front door and heaves his weight again it with a crunch. Zayn watches as Harry and Louis stumble into the front hall together, boots caked with slush, shaking snow from their hair and their shoulders, the rattle of their voices muttering _brrr_ and _my fucking_ fingers _, man._

Zayn waits for Niall and Liam to catch up, standing by the open door and shaking uncontrollably now, his hands shoved up into his sleeves and his shoulders kept tight by his sides, almost touching his ears. 

"You still like winter so much?" Zayn asks as Niall steps inside and Liam spreads an arm wide to let Zayn in next.

"Yep," Liam says, smirking even.

"I don't fucking understand you," Zayn says with a laugh as he steps inside and Liam closes the front door behind them. 

The whole house smells of wood smoke; Niall was right about there being a fire going. It's the same smell that sticks in Zayn's clothes when they go camping, that campfire burn lingering in his hair until he takes his first shower when he gets home. The snap and crackle of it can be heard even from down the hall, going off like pop rocks on a tongue or a seed sparking in a badly rolled joint. 

It's a race to undress, unzipping and pulling off heavy jackets and kicking off snow boots. Mittens and scarves, wool socks and toques; jeans and hoodies and t-shirts. They leave a breadcrumb trail down the hall, leaving their wet clothes – sweat-damp and winter-cold – behind as the five of them step into the glorious warmth of the living room, dressed only in their boxers. 

"Da?" Niall shouts, cupping a hand next to his mouth. "Da, we're home."

"Niall?" The shout comes from somewhere in the basement, Niall's father's voice muffled but his distinctive Newfoundland accent coming through strong and it makes Zayn smile.

Niall opens the door to the basement, just across the hall from where Louis and Harry are settling in close to the fire. "Where's ma?" Niall shouts downstairs. 

Liam stands by Niall's side so Zayn joins them, just peeking over Niall's shoulder to look down the stairs. The walls down there are covered with tools, a thousand different sized wrenches and hammers and row upon row of screwdrivers. Zayn tries to think of a time when, visiting Niall, they didn't find his dad tinkering away in the basement.

"Out with the ladies," Niall's dad says, finally rounding the corner and standing at the foot of the stairs, wiping his oil-stained hands with a rag. He gives Liam and Zayn a friendly wave. "The b'ys with ya?"

"Yeah, da," Niall says. "We're just going to sit by the fire, all right?"

"All right, give a shout if you need anything," Niall's dad says. "Hey there, Liam."

"Hey, Bobby," Liam says, waving back.

"Hi," Zayn adds, stepping out of Liam's shadow even though he still feels strange saying hi to Niall's dad dressed in red silk boxers.

"And Zayn! All right there?"

"Sure am," Liam says. "What're you building?"

"Water boiler's gone out, hasn't it?" Bobby says. "An easy fix, though, no worries."

"No worries when you're around," Liam says, getting Bobby to grin. 

Zayn has never seen anyone act so cool around parents (or children, or teachers, or anyone really), Liam just knowing innately how to get along, shifting gears so easily around anyone, always able to make friendly conversation. Strangers on buses, workers at McDonalds, he can get along with pretty much anyone, always willing to step up and have a chat. Even after ten years Zayn is still surprised by it, like, well, right now, with Liam tall and broad-shouldered wearing just his boxers, carrying on with Niall's dad like they're in a garage on a summer's afternoon. 

Niall closes the door to the basement again, giving a sheepish smile like _what can you do?_. "He's trying to build me a skate for the cast," Niall says. "I don't know why, I'm gonna be back on my feet in a month."

"I love your dad's accent so much," Louis says from the living room, craning around to look at them. "We went to St. John's for a family vacation once and none of them sounded that cool."

"It's cause they're all townies," Niall says. "For the real accent you gotta get out of the city."

"I love it, too," Harry says, his head just poking out from behind the arm of a barcalounger. "Harry loves it too."

"Sticks out a bit though, doesn't it?" Niall says, rubbing the back of his neck. Niall gets a bit of an accent when he's at home, his words somehow thicker when he's around his dad, more likely to drop the last syllable of his words and relax into an easy patter. It's a private Niall that only they get to really see, when he's most himself and the Maritimes come out, one of those little hidden details they draw out in one another when they're alone.

"Nah," Liam says easily, looking at Zayn.

"Your family's really awesome," Zayn adds, catching Liam's smile and returning it. 

"Aw, you fuckin' guys," Niall says. He puts on arm over each of their bare shoulders, his skin as cool as their own, and uses them as crutches to get back to the fire. 

Louis and Harry are already sitting at the foot of the big leather chair (Niall's dad's seat, never to be disturbed), and Niall settles awkwardly with his cast in the middle of the room, rubbing his palms together before he puts them closer to the heat of the fire. Liam seems unsure of where to sit, hovering above them nervously before Zayn sighs and sits at the foot of the sofa, dragging Liam down next to him and completing their little semi-circle in front of the open flames.

Zayn's front is so warm against the fire but his back is freezing against the cold leather of the furniture. He wriggles to get a bit closer to the hearth and, in doing so, scoots a bit close to Liam too. The fire doesn't warm his sides but Zayn's arm is clammy from where it rests beside Liam's, his thighs where their skin touches. 

"Is that new?" Niall asks, pointing at Louis' chest. Everyone leans forward, craning to look at it. "Did you really –"

"Yup," Louis says proudly, puffing his chest out to show off the number 78 inked there. "Got my number done and all."

"Cause of your grandparents, right?" Liam asks.

Louis raises his eyebrows. "You remember that?" he asks, actually sounding surprised. "I told you that, like, years ago."

Zayn can feel Liam shrug beside him, a sheepish smile on his face. "I thought it was sweet, I don't know. I remembered just now."

Louis takes a second to reply, his limp shock curling up into something quieter and more sincere. "You're a good one, Payno." 

It's maybe the nicest thing Zayn has ever heard Louis say sober, and Zayn can't help but look at Liam to see how he takes it. With a smile, obviously, and red in his cheeks, and his soft bottom lip sucked in and bitten on. Zayn can't help but agree with Louis' verdict, but somehow hearing someone else compliment Liam makes Zayn feel that much prouder of his best friend. He'll hear it occasionally, from the hockey players or his parents or even a teacher sometimes, and it never fails to make Zayn smile, like finally people are noticing what Zayn has known since the first time they met at only seven years old.

"Hey, who's playing tonight?" Harry asks. 

"Anaheim at Chicago," Liam says instantly. He checks his big moon of a silver watch, seemingly so much larger now that he's shirtless, standing out against the long line of his pale arms. "Should be second period."

"Let's have it, then," Louis says, gesturing limply with a hand like he's summoning a servant.

Niall huffs a sigh but he finds the remote and turns on the TV, flicking through stations. "Chicago doesn't stand a chance, the Ducks are on a streak, man."

"Just wait," Liam says quietly. "Just you wait."

Niall finds the right channel and then groans. "Fuck you."

"Two-nothing Hawks," Liam says, instantly brightening up. He doesn't resist when Niall leans over to punch his arm twice. "Told you."

"Oh, shut up," Niall says.

"You don't even like the Ducks," Louis says, leaning against Niall to nudge him.

"Yeah, but I don't like when Liam gets all smug about it," Niall says, and laughs when Liam gives him two punches in return.

Zayn wonders how many of these conversations he's missed over the years because he just couldn't be bothered, how many dumb little moments like this where they're curled up close to one another and trading words and blows about their favourite teams. He feels like an idiot because this is just so _nice_ , watching a game in their underwear and feeling somehow lighter for it. He wonders how much of Liam he has missed because he was too proud, or too lonely, or too fucking stupid to see the hundreds of sides of Liam that exist when Zayn isn't looking. Like Niall's accent, there's something to Liam that comes out in nights like these.

"You don't mind, do you?" Liam whispers next to Zayn, startling him.

"Mind what?" Zayn asks.

"Watching the game?" Liam says.

Zayn almost winces. How did it get to this point, where Liam is worried Zayn might not be having a good time right now? It hurts just thinking that Liam might think he doesn't want to do stupid things with the boys, as if Zayn is secretly wishes he wasn't here. Because tonight (as he feels the life bleed back into his skin from the glow of the fire and the heat of Liam's skin, as he massages his swelling ankles) is one of the best nights Zayn has had in a long time: body aching, fingers frozen, watching a boring sport, feeling awkwardly skinny next to all these hockey players, and never wanting it to end.

"It's cool," Zayn says, leaning against Liam a bit heavier to prove it. "I'm having a good time, I swear."

"Oh," Liam says softly, but looking happier for it. "Cool. Okay." There's a pause before he goes back to watching the TV, his gaze lingering on Zayn. "You cold, Zayn?"

 _Not really_ , Zayn thinks. "Kinda," Zayn says.

Liam's smile makes his cheeks dimple. "C'mere," he whispers, and puts an arm around Zayn's shoulder and drags him in until they're tucked side by side. 

It's something they've done hundreds of times before, leaning on each other in the hall at school or linking arms around each other for a group photo, but never has it made Zayn's heart beat this hard. It's a thud against his ribs like kicking a door in, and it makes him burn from chest to cheeks. Liam doesn't smell that great, salt-sweat and chocolate, but Zayn leans into it anyway. It's just what he needs right now, that arm like a promise that Zayn won't miss any more nights like this because he pretends he doesn't care. 

He does care. More than he ever thought.

Wanting Liam to hold him, wanting Liam's touch and bare skin and smile is an entirely new feeling for Zayn, but at the same time it's somehow ancient. It's one of those things that Zayn has always carried inside of himself but never bothered to name, something expected that he never spent that long thinking about until tonight. Now that Zayn singles it out, though, it seems to ring inside him like a struck bell: of course, _of course_. 

It's like uncovering an old secret, looking through the years as Zayn realises how far back this feeling goes: tucked in beside him during sleepovers, Liam resting an arm on his shoulder while they stand in the halls at school, jumping on Liam's back as they run laughing down the halls. It's like living in a house for his whole life and only now seeing the concrete foundations that keep it standing.

Zayn remembers that look Liam gets when he's worried about being left alone – like when everyone is drunk at a party and falling asleep leaving him no one talk to, or when he naps with his head in Niall's lap at two in the morning when they're watching _Breaking Bad_ and mumbles sadly when Niall stops twirling his fingers in Liam's hair – and for the first time Zayn kind of understands how that feels. He doesn't want Liam to take his arm away, Zayn just wants to sink into the warmth of the fire and the drone of the game and Liam's attention. 

He wants to linger in this feeling for a long time.

"Pretty weird day for you, huh?" Liam murmurs as the game stops for a break. 

"Yeah, sorta," Zayn agrees, still feeling his heart beating at the cage of his ribs, connecting all the dots of the day that led him to this moment, almost naked and tucked into Liam's side. "But not really. I liked it. I'd like – more days like this, actually."

Liam doesn't say anything, he just squeezes the muscle of Zayn's shoulder.

"Really," Zayn says. "I would."

"Me too," Liam says, his eyes darting to the floor before coming back up to focus on Zayn. "So, did I get you to like winter yet?"

"Nope."

"I will."

"Nope."

"You'll see."

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will."

Zayn pauses for a second, turning away from Liam to watch as the game gets going again. "All right," he whispers.

*

The next Friday night is a race for Zayn. He has to get home from school, eat something, and pack his bags in half an hour before Liam comes to pick him up. The trip to Ottawa somehow snuck up on Zayn, forgetting that he promised the team he'd come along, their good luck charm or cheerleader or whatever he is for them. But he promised – he promised Liam, and he promised himself not to miss moments like these.

Accompanying a busload of loud, violent, ecstatic hockey players across the province isn't the way Zayn pictured this weekend. It takes a bit of psyching up for Zayn to even want to leave the house, but Liam's texts throughout the last periods of the school day ( _I'll pick u up at 430 ok??_ ; _I'm rly xcited :)_ ; _Roadtrip!!_ ; _Don't worry Harry bringin snax_ ) definitely helps get Zayn in the right mood.

It won't be all bad. Yeah, there will be yelling, and jokes that will probably make Zayn feel uncomfortable, but there will be Niall sitting with him in the stands, and Harry going out of his way to make everyone feel great, and Louis making things fun no matter where they are. 

And there will be Liam. There will always be huge changes and lots of responsibility and worries about the future, but at least for this weekend there will be Liam.

"You're only packing now?" Zayn's mom says, standing in the doorway to Zayn's mess of a bedroom. "Sweetheart –"

"It's fine, it's fine," Zayn says, hurrying to jam as many clean shirts and sweatshirts as he can into his bag. "It's only two nights."

"They'll be completely wrinkled, Zayn," his mom says.

"Well, we all have burdens to carry," Zayn says, finding rolled up balls of socks and shoving them in with clean briefs. He thinks about packing something to sleep in, but he doesn't have much room in his knapsack and he figures a t-shirt and boxers will be fine. He's done it before, sharing a bed with Liam, why would this time be any different.

"Sarcasm," his mom says warningly, but she's smiling when he tries to do up the zip of his overloaded bag.

"Did you just come here to watch me?" Zayn asks, actually out of breath as he tries to jam everything in.

"No, no," she says warmly. "Liam's here to pick you up. You all ready to go?"

"Fu – damn," Zayn corrects quickly. "I think so."

"Toothbrush? Deodorant?" she asks.

"Yes, yes, God, it'll only be two days, mom," Zayn says, finally getting the bag to close and swinging it over his shoulder. He dodges past his mother into the hallway, going down the stairs at a run, not wanting to hold up the whole team. His mom follows him downstairs, her smile a little too indulgent for Zayn's liking.

"Hey, man," Liam says, standing on the mat just inside the house. He's wearing his big winter jacket with his hood pulled up, ringing his face with a halo of fur. His cheeks are bright red and his smile deepens when he sees Zayn and his mom. "Ready to go?"

"No," his mother says with a laugh.

" _Yes_ ," Zayn huffs, pulling on his boots and grabbing his coat in one hand, deciding he'll put it on in the truck. "All right, bye, mom."

"Have fun, sweetheart," she says, and Zayn turns to give her a hug.

"Love you," Zayn says, kissing her soft cheek.

"Text when you get there?" she asks, rubbing his back.

"Of course," Zayn says. It's only when tucks his head over her shoulder and smells her perfume does Zayn really understand that he's going away. He suddenly realises that he's got the whole world to himself, all these choices for him to fuck up. He's been away from home alone a few times but it just sinks in now that he'll be miles away and doing this on his own. 

Her hug somehow reassures him though, just like his conversation with his dad did the other day: they believe he can, and he wants to live up to that. He wants to be as good as they think he is, as the team thinks he is. As good as Liam believes he is, too.

His mother kisses Zayn's cheek and, releasing him from the hug, turns to Liam next and hugs him too. 

"We'll take good care of him, Trisha, don't worry," Liam says against her shoulder.

"I know you will." She kisses Liam's cheek. "And good luck with the game, yeah?"

"Thanks," Liam says, as warm and sincere as anything. He turns to Zayn next. "Should we go?"

"Let's go," Zayn says. "Bye, mom."

"Have fun!" Zayn's mom shouts from the front steps of their house, watching them go. "And no smoking, Zayn. I mean it!"

"Don't worry, we won't let him!" Liam pipes up, giving her another wave goodbye.

Zayn follows Liam down the driveway and out into the cold January afternoon. Zayn has a tightness in his chest like worry, but the good kind, the worry that comes before big leaps or massive nights, the thrill of lighting fireworks over a lake or driving back from a concert at two o'clock in the morning. It's a worry Zayn almost enjoys, because even though he's faced with the crazy unknown of a weekend filled with hotel rooms and strange towns and hockey games, at least it's something he's sharing with Liam.

*

The last hours of daylight are bright and clear and cold, stinging with a wind that sweeps loose snow down from the roofs of houses and swirls it around in patterns, like a flock of birds taking off. They're a little bit late but the Greyhound bus is still waiting in front of their arena. Liam parks his truck at the far end of the lot and the wind howls when Zayn opens his door against it, his eyes watering in the cold.

Liam hauls his bag out of the back of the truck, putting the strap over his shoulder and heaving it up with a grunt.

"Is that all you brought?" Zayn asks, swinging his own bag onto his back as they walk across the parking lot to the bus.

Liam frowns slightly. "Yeah?"

"You know we won't be back until Sunday, right?" Zayn says, his shoulders tightening as he tries to brace himself against the wind. 

Liam's frown deepens. "Should I have brought more?"

"How many changes of clothes do you have?" Zayn says.

"One?" Liam says, hiking up his bag again. Zayn can hear the rattle and clash of his pads and skates inside.

Zayn pauses. "One?"

"Is that not enough?" Liam asks quietly, his brow still furrowed like he's doing a difficult math problem.

Laughing, Zayn pats Liam's shoulder. "Don't worry, I brought a bunch of hoodies, man."

Liam smiles, a breath of relief. "I didn't even really think about it, I've just been thinking about –"

"– the game," Zayn fills in for him, rolling his eyes.

In the shadow of the Greyhound, Liam hands his bag off to the driver who stores it away in the belly of the bus. 

"Kinda," Liam says, stepping aside to let Zayn onto the bus first. "But mostly I was thinking – uh, about you."

"Me?" Zayn asks, freezing where he is on the stairs. He can feel Liam nudge against him from behind, startled by his sudden stop.

"If you wanted to come," Liam says.

"I do," Zayn says, too awkward to turn around and face Liam now. He can hear the loud chatter of the boys already on the bus and he can already see Louis waving at him from the back. "Don't worry," Zayn says calmly even if it stings more than the wind, like the sour of vinegar in the back of his throat. "I really do."

They're not the last people to be accounted for, but they're still pretty late and most of the seats are filled. Luckily, Niall, Harry, and Louis have already claimed a whole section near the back of the bus, so Liam and Zayn walk down the aisle (saying hello, giving high fives, getting their backs slapped) and flop down into the two empty seats Louis has been saving for them. Zayn takes the one closest to the window, knowing that Liam can get carsick (he's already popping a Gravol into his mouth, swallowing it dry) and he shoves his bag as far as he can under the seat so he has some room to stretch out.

"So, how far is Ottawa, anyway?" Louis asks, leaning forward with his chin resting between Zayn and Liam's seats. He's chewing some bubblegum loudly, his hair soft and unstyled, falling in a swoop over one eye. 

"I don't know," Liam says. "Far?"

"Like, seven hours," Zayn says, twisting around in his seat so his sitting with his back to the window, kicking off his boots so he can sit cross-legged on the cushion. "Give or take."

"Seriously?" Louis says. "I thought it wasn't far."

"To be fair, that's not far for here," Harry says, nudging Louis aside as he tries to stick his head into the gap between Zayn and Liam too. "Remember our first drive to Thunder Bay?"

"That was torture," Louis says, groaning. "You were right to skip out on that one, Zayn. We got in at like five in the morning and had an eight a.m. wake up call. That was some bullshit."

Zayn doesn't say anything. He doesn't even remember being asked to go along, but if he did he obviously brushed it off. It takes away his reservations about this trip, though, a voice in his head telling him that this is the right idea. He even gets a little excited when the bus finally groans to life as the last couple of players get on, the front door hissing on its hydraulics as it closes.

"Fucking Ontario," Louis says. "Nine million years from one side to the other. If this was Europe this would be like driving to Russia or something."

"Rocks and trees," Niall joins in, swinging his cast out into the aisle so he can lean across the gap to talk with them. "That's all it is up here."

With a gasp and a stutter from the airbrakes, the bus finally sets off. The sun is setting so all the interior lights go dim, letting the bus fill with the orange and pink of the dying day. Turns out being on a bus full of hockey players is extremely loud too, all these guys carrying on conversations half-way across the bus, filling the long stretch of empty hours ahead of them with acapella LMFAO sing-alongs and awful jokes about mothers. They're not even out of the parking lot before the cards come out and a game of poker gets under way. 

The last time Zayn was on a long bus ride it was to go to camp (one disastrous year that was never repeated) and they had played license plate games and sang songs. This is not like that. This is a whole different thing to get used to, much harder than navigating the intimacy of team dynamics and the inside joke sand the parties. This makes Zayn feel like a Star Trek explorer setting foot on a brand new planet.

It's like a family routine in a house Zayn is only visiting for the day. There seem to be some unspoken rules about how to pass the time on the road and it's like an entire language Zayn is trying to learn all at once: knowing when it's funny to ask if they're there yet and when it's annoying; what to do during road stops and how many of them there will be; the rules about pooling money to buy a dinner from some gas station; when it's time to chat and when it's time to nap.

Even with the boys Zayn feels like he's on the outside looking in. Louis and Harry start up a slapping game, holding out their palms as they try to hit the other hardest. Harry, always too soft with Louis, seems to lose almost every match, his palms going red as his laughter glows with sweet little whimpers that make Louis go _aww_. Niall gets his phone out and Zayn can hear the familiar sounds of _Candy Crush_. They all just seem to instinctively know how to be around one another like this, so different than the boredom of time after school or the games they'll play during lunch or school assemblies in the gym.

"So, what do you even do on these trips?" Zayn asks Liam in a whisper, knowing that Liam will always tell him the secret passwords to these clubs Zayn isn't a part of.

"Nothing, really," Liam says with a shrug. "They'll put on a movie soon." He smiles because just as he says it a dozen or so televisions descend from the ceiling above their seats, tiny screens that swing down and flicker to life. "It's pretty boring but, I don't know, just do what you like, I guess? Or you could have a nap on those two empty seats back there. There's not really much to do."

"What do _you_ do?" Zayn asks.

"I – think about the game we've got coming up," Liam says sheepishly, like it's something to be embarrassed about. "Trying to get into the feel of it. It's always more intimidating when you're away so – so I like to be prepared."

"He's really boring on trips," Louis pipes in, obviously overhearing them. "Once he spent the whole thing writing down plays in a notebook. That's why I have a no-pen-and-paper policy now."

"He's a good nap buddy, though," Harry adds, still shaking his red-slapped hand. 

"Aw, thanks, Harry," Liam says, twisting around to give him a smile.

"Like I said," Louis says. " _Boring_. Come find me later, Zayn, I've got my iPod and some new stuff I think you'll like."

"Thanks, Lou," Zayn says.

"I've got _The Hobbit_ in my bag," Niall adds in. "You can steal it if you want."

"Thanks, man," Zayn says, giving Niall the ghost of a wink.

"Wanna watch the movie?" Liam asks next, elbowing Zayn a few times as he wriggles out of his jacket and stretches his arms up high, a flash of bare skin at his stomach and armpit. 

" _Remember the Titans_?" Zayn asks, raising an eyebrow. "I don't know much about this shit but I'm pretty sure that's about football."

"There are only so many times you can watch _The Mighty Ducks_ , man," Liam says, smiling when Zayn laughs.

The window is freezing cold against Zayn's back, and the rattle of the bus making the metal lip of the pane dig into his skin. It's cramped and loud in here, and they're only fifteen minutes into the trip and Zayn is already bored. Louis and Harry fall back into their own conversation leaving Zayn and Liam alone as the movie starts. The TV screen is too small and Zayn's stomach rumbles. There's a sting of medicinal lemon in the air from the bathrooms at the back of the bus, and Zayn feels like an idiot for not bringing a book. He's on his way to a strange city with a hockey team he doesn't play for, taking up space and awkwardly trying to figure out where he belongs the whole time. Fuck, it's like Zayn's worst nightmare.

Liam smiles as the movie starts playing and he settles lower in his seat as he gets more comfortable, resting his head on Zayn's shoulder.

Yeah. It's kind of great.

*

By the time they pull up at a gas station just outside of North Bay, Zayn is absolutely dying for a cigarette. The clear skies they left Sudbury with have clouded over and the snow is coming fast and strong by the time they make this first stop.

"All right," Coach Robin says, standing at the front of the bus. "Twenty minutes, all right? Not twenty-five, not thirty. Twenty minutes."

There's a muddled response of "okay" and "sure" as half of the boys stand up and stretch, crowding the aisles to get off the bus. Zayn joins them, bouncing on his heels and itching to light up. 

"You guys want anything?" Liam asks, standing in line behind Zayn but turning to the rest of the boys. He takes their orders carefully, writing them down on his wrist with a sharpie, from hand to elbow. The line starts to move before Liam is done but Zayn waits even though his head is starting to ache from the want of nicotine.

"Come on, dude," Zayn says, tugging at the hem of Liam's hoodie. 

"All right, let's go," Liam says happily, putting his hands on Zayn's shoulders and walking in step behind him.

It's colder than Zayn thought, the illusion of snow making it seem milder than it is. It must be twenty below at best and Zayn didn't bring his jacket, but he's so desperate for a smoke that he doesn't even care. He takes a few steps away from the gas pumps, leaning against the wall of the diner as he takes his Marlboros out of his pocket.

"Don't tell my mum," Zayn says as he lights up, raising his eyebrows at Liam.

"Your secret's safe with me, Batman," Liam says, tapping the side of his nose. "Zayn, you're going to freeze out here."

Zayn gives a _so what?_ shrug of his shoulders as he blows out his first breath of smoke. He can already feel his whole body start to calm, the rattle and hum in his head fading out like the end of a bad song.

"You're an idiot," Liam says fondly. It takes Zayn a second to figure out what Liam is doing but he has already unzipped his hoodie and taken it off before Zayn can tell him not to, Liam handing it over with a smile. 

"Naw, man," Zayn says, already starting to shiver. "Isn't it really Canadian to stand out here suffering through a smoke?"

"You've got a weird idea of what being Canadian is," Liam says, cocking his head to the side and shoving the hoodie at Zayn again.

Reluctantly, Zayn takes the hoodie and pulls it on. Without his sweater, Liam is dressed the way he always is when he's not in a hockey jersey: tight white t-shirt, acid washed blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up smartly over the lip of his boots. It makes him look like an extra from _The Outsiders_ , like he ought to have a pack of smokes tucked up in his sleeve and a motorcycle instead of Spider-Man posters on his walls and a soft spot for Pixar. 

"Do you want anything to eat?" Liam asks, crossing his arms over his chest. Zayn almost laughs, seeing Liam's nipples through his shirt, but he also sees the goosebumps running up Liam's arms and he feels like an asshole for taking the sweater.

"No, I'm fine," Zayn says, nudging Liam towards the diner. "Get inside, Liam, you'll freeze."

Liam rolls his eyes but he leaves a friendly pat on Zayn's shoulder before he excuses himself and steps into the diner, looking down at the food orders scrawled along his skin.

Even with Liam's hoodie it's still fucking cold out here. Zayn brings his hands up into the sleeves and pulls on the hood against the snow that's falling fast. He watches the road for a while as he smokes his cigarette, the Trans-Canada Highway like a silver knife cutting through the dark Boreal shield. The glow of the cars rushing past light up the eddies of snow, whipping these patterns around like a flag caught in a storm. Diamonds of headlights rushing towards them and rubies of taillights rushing away.

He's two hours into the trip but Zayn still feels kind of weird about it. Nothing really out of the ordinary has happened, the five of them just hanging out together like they would on an ordinary afternoon, but something about the bus and the miles of scenery rushing by the windows makes Zayn feel oddly out of place, like he's a stow away and doesn't belong here. 

Even Liam isn't as steadying a presence as he should be. It happens in the quiet moments, when Liam thinks Zayn isn't watching. His normal smile will fade and Zayn will catch him glancing over from time to time with something almost like worry in his eyes.

It's just a fucking mess because now Zayn really has no idea who he's supposed to be anymore. It seems like no matter what he does he ends up falling further away from Liam, that no matter what he does or what he says, it's never enough to fight against the hurricane winds of change that pull them apart.

"Hey," Liam says, stepping out of the diner just as Zayn is finishing his cigarette. "I got you a burger." He hands over a paper bag to Zayn, ketchup packets tucked neatly inside. 

It's not nearly the first time Liam has done something thoughtful and sweet for Zayn, but it is the first time Zayn wants to ask _why?_ Why does Liam do these kinds of things for him? What does he get out of it? What does it even mean, anymore? Instead, Zayn takes the burger and feels it hot against his freezing hands. 

"Thanks, Liam," Zayn says quietly, hoping it sounds as sincere as he feels.

"You almost done?" Liam asks, arms stiff at his sides as he holds a big paper bag that smells of French fries and grease. 

Zayn waves the last quarter inch of his cigarette, puts it to his lips and takes his last breath. He stamps it out under his shoe, a dirty smear in the snow. "Come on," Zayn says, putting his hands on Liam's shoulders this time as he follows him into the bus. Liam's muscles under his t-shirt are as warm as his laugh.

Liam never asks for the sweater back, so Zayn keeps wearing the hoodie for the rest of the trip.

*

The snow slows down the trip considerably and now Zayn understands why they left a day in advance. By eleven o'clock at night they're only halfway to Ottawa and the snow just keeps on coming.

It turns out that _Remember the Titans_ is the only movie the team brought along, so they end up playing it on a loop. By the time it starts up for the third time Zayn is pretty much done with the whole thing.

In the hours on the road they've made a pretty good job of turning the bus into a home. Behind the living room (the seats closest to the swing-down television set) and the kitchen (where Harry keeps a lookout over the leftover hamburgers and candy that Liam bought at the diner), is what they've come to call the bedroom. 

It's just a row of seats, four empty spaces arranged two by two, piled high with their coats and scarves and sweaters like bedding. It's there that Zayn retreats, patting Liam's shoulder and telling him "I really can't stand Denzel Washington's face anymore" before he slides into one of the makeshift beds and pulls Harry's soft sheepskin coat over himself like a blanket. 

Zayn doesn't manage to sleep but he likes it back here, quieter and calmer and, most importantly, without the strange expectant weight of Liam beside him. Even as he's glad to be away from the awkwardness that is blossoming between them like some sick flower, Zayn still kind of misses Liam, misses him even though he's just a few seats away, misses him even though he can hear Liam's voice as he talks to Louis about the upcoming game, misses the way things were and ought to be.

After a half an hour of wondering if he should stay or go back to Liam, Niall shuffles his way over to the second bed, flopping down with his cast sticking out into the aisle.

"Hey, man," Zayn says. 

"Oh," Niall says, leaning up on his elbows. "I thought you were asleep."

"It's too loud," Zayn says. 

"Yeah," Niall says with a laugh. "It'll quiet down later, we're gonna be on the bus forever and the boys have practice on the ice at eight."

"Ouch," Zayn says. 

"They've done worse. Once we got in to Sault-Ste-Marie at five in the afternoon and the game was at six." Niall laughs again. "This is the first time I'm not that bothered to be on crutches, y'know? We'll get to sleep in, at least."

Zayn gives the ghost of a laugh, fading on his lips almost before it starts. "Hey, Niall?"

"Yeah?" Niall says.

Zayn sits up, hard on all the slippery jackets but he manages it. He glances around quickly but Liam and Louis have moved to the front of the bus, absorbed in conversation with the Coach. "Does, uh – is Liam okay with me being here?"

"What?" Niall says, straightening up too. "Are you kidding? He hasn't stopped talking about it for a week. He's stoked, Zayn. Why would you even ask that?"

"I don't know," Zayn says, fidgeting with his words. "It's just a feeling. I don't know, he seems so – different lately, I guess?"

"Did you tell him?" Niall says next, the question Zayn knew he would ask and the one he really doesn't want to answer.

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to be telling him –"

"That you're there for him," Niall says simply. "I mean, he definitely knows it, but you know Liam, he likes when things are, uh, said out loud. You know how bad he is on picking up signals and shit like that. Just tell him you love him, you're on his side. He'll get it, man."

Zayn frowns at that. "I can't just, like, _say_ that to people, Niall."

"Why not?"

Zayn shakes his head, wondering how Niall could even ask that. "Cause, like, I just can't?"

"You told me," Niall says. It's always like this with Niall and Zayn is almost annoyed at how easy things with Niall must be, how he says _I love you_ and means it without ever worrying about how it could come across. It's easy for Niall to show weakness like that, but Zayn couldn't imagine himself doing it in a million years.

"Telling you is different," Zayn replies.

"Why?"

Zayn pinches the bridge of his nose. "I don't know."

It's the word itself, _love_ , that sticks in Zayn's throat. It's a different word when he uses it with Liam, a different definition in the dictionary far away from the _love_ he can throw around when Louis comes up with a great excuse to get them out of Econ, or when Niall buys some great weed off of his brother, or when Harry calls him sometimes to check in when he thinks Zayn's having a shitty day. 

With Liam the word takes a whole different shape: redder, warmer, fuller. It's like a burning coal he's swallowed that sits in the bottom of his stomach, fiery and loud and sometimes even painful, an ember of a word that Zayn will never let escape.

"Don't over-think it, man," Niall says, shooting him a grin from across the aisle. "Liam wants you here. We all want you here. If you think he's acting weird just come out and say it. Ask him what's up. Liam trusts you, he'll tell you."

"Okay," Zayn says, trying not to sound sceptical. 

"I love you, Zayn," Niall says.

"I love you, too," Zayn replies.

"See?" Niall says. "Was it really that hard?"

*

They get to the outskirts of Ottawa by two-thirty. The snow lets up a little by the end of the drive, and just as Niall predicted everyone calmed down after midnight, most of the boys dozing off during conversation or trying to nap sitting up in their seats. _Remember the Titans_ keeps playing, though, starting over the for the fifth time. At this rate Zayn will never forget the fucking Titans.

Luckily, the arena they're playing at isn't downtown but in one of the suburbs of the city. It's the same place the Ottawa Senators play, Liam excitedly told them as they were sharing their second burgers a few hours earlier. It's an arena that _Jonathan Toews _has played on, for God's sake.__

__The bus pulls in front of their hotel, a towering Holiday Inn only a few minutes away from the venue, just before three in the morning. The team seems totally wiped out, ten hours on the road and aching with the knowledge that they have to wake up painfully soon. Groggily, they gather their things and stand in silence in the aisle, waiting for the doors to open._ _

__Zayn gave up his makeshift bed near the back of the bus to Liam a few hours ago, knowing that he deserves the sleep more. Waking him up is hard, though, Liam looking so vulnerable and almost small curled up under Harry's jacket and snoozing quietly._ _

__"Hey, man," Zayn says, shaking Liam's shoulder._ _

__"I'm up, I'm up," Liam says suddenly, jerking awake. He rubs his eyes and looks blearily up at Zayn. "Oh."_ _

__"We're at the hotel," Zayn says, offering Liam a hand and pulling him up from the piles of jackets._ _

__"Right, right," Liam says, coughing into his fist. "Sorry."_ _

__"Sorry?" Zayn asks._ _

__Liam shakes his head. "Sorry, never mind. What time is it?"_ _

__"Three," Zayn says apologetically._ _

__"Damn."_ _

__"I know."_ _

__Zayn helps Liam pack up their trash, crumpled up burger wrappers and empty cans of coke. Liam looks exhausted, his eyes darkened in shadow, his movements robotic and distracted. Zayn just wishes he could let Liam go to bed, and he really wants to tell Liam that he'll finish cleaning and picking up their bags just so Liam can get some rest, but he knows that Liam would refuse._ _

__"Are we sharing a room?" Liam asks quietly. Zayn isn't sure if it's just because he's tired or if it's something else, but his voice sounds brittle, almost worried._ _

__"Of course," Zayn says, taking the bag of trash from Liam and gathering it up with his knapsack. "Come on, let's get you to bed."_ _

__Liam's so tired that he doesn't even complain when Zayn tells him to get inside the hotel lobby while he stays behind with the driver to pick up Liam's bag. It doesn't take long, Liam's bag one of the first to be taken out from under the bus, so they beat most of the team to the check-in desk at the hotel._ _

__A sleepy night porter is giving Coach Robin a thick handful of keycards just as Zayn lugs Liam's heavy hockey bag into the lobby. Louis, Harry, and Niall aren't far behind them, Harry carrying Niall's bag for him. They all look wiped out and Zayn feels like the only reason he's still awake right now is knowing that he gets to sleep in. Zayn ends up taking charge, seemingly the only one awake enough to do it, and he takes three keycards (making sure the rooms are next to each other) from the Coach, handing one of them to Harry and Louis and a second to Niall._ _

__"All right," Louis says hoarsely, taking his card. "Seven-thirty tomorrow?"_ _

__Liam nods slowly._ _

__Louis groans but Harry pats his shoulder. "You've had worse," Harry says._ _

__"It's not fair," Louis says. "Professional players don't have school during the day."_ _

__"They should," Zayn says. "Have you heard the way some of them talk?"_ _

__The boys laugh a little and Louis punches Zayn's arm weakly. "Hey look, you made a hockey joke."_ _

__"Come on," Zayn says, using a team captain voice borrowed from Liam. "Let's get you kids to bed."_ _

__They leave the front desk just as the other players come in, dragging their heels and grumbling about the time. Zayn punches the button and the elevator doors open for them, carrying them away from the fluorescent and anti-septic lobby and into the musty warmth of the hotel, all golden light and plush red carpet like a Victorian library._ _

__"All right," Liam says, slapping hands with Louis and Harry, giving Niall's shoulder a squeeze. "See you tomorrow morning."_ _

__It's a sign of how tired they all are that there's no group hug or even attempts at a joke about the politics of sharing beds or Pirate Niall and his wooden leg. They just give weak nods and shuffle down the hall to their rooms while Zayn unlocks their room and nudges Liam inside._ _

__The hotel room is pretty standard. A King-size bed takes up most of the room, along with a few wooden desks, a TV, a couple of chairs, and a window with drawn curtains. Zayn drops their bags by the side of the bed and flops down on the mattress. It's springy and soft, Zayn sinking so deeply into the billow of the duvet he could probably make snow angels._ _

__"Zayn," Liam says, tired and drawn out but still smiling. "Teeth first."_ _

__"Oh, for fuck's sake," Zayn groans, rolling onto his side and not even caring if he falls asleep fully-clothed._ _

__"Come on, Zayn," Liam says again. He kneels down to unzip his duffel, taking out a small plastic bag filled with his toiletries, shaking them in front of Zayn's face._ _

__Groaning, Zayn slides off the bed and takes his own toothbrush from his bag, stumbling into the bathroom after Liam._ _

__The lights flicker a few times before coming on. There is a tower of fluffy white towels next to the sink, cups still in their paper wrappers, a little basket of miniature soaps and shampoos. It smells like vanilla and cream in here, and the tiles cold under Zayn's socked feet, and the noises they make echo against the marble and glass. It's just a normal hotel bathroom, it could be anywhere, but when they stand together in front of the mirror it transforms into something like home._ _

__Squeezing toothpaste out of the tube, they start brushing their teeth, standing side by side in front of their tired reflections. It might be another bathroom in another city but the feeling rushes back to Zayn right away, vivid memories of spending the night at Liam's house and thinking about what it would be like to do this every night and every morning, the two of them in this almost-ritual that means they'll be sharing a bed, sharing a night, sharing a life._ _

__Like all those other times Zayn can't help but love how familiar it is, the both of them with their lips white with froth, spitting into the sink at the same time, handing a glass back and forth to swill their mouths with water. One set of white lips marked on one side of the cup, one on the other._ _

__It's the best kind of déjà vu, and even in reliving the memory it feels just as important as it did the first time._ _

__"Satisfied?" Zayn finally asks, setting his brush by the side of the sink._ _

__"Yep," Liam says, smiling at Zayn in the mirror of the bathroom. "I'll be right out, okay?"_ _

__"'Kay," Zayn says._ _

__On his own in the bedroom, Zayn undresses quickly, taking off Liam's hoodie (smelling of both of them now, cologne and smoke) and unbuckling his jeans. He lets them fall in a pile by his feet and he toes off his socks next, inelegantly, almost falling on his ass by accident._ _

__Crawling into what Zayn supposes is his side of the bed (he always takes the left side of Liam's bed, why could this be any different?), he slides under the blankets and sheets and just closes his eyes. Sleep is so close he can feel it like a word on the tip of his tongue, but he's also dimly aware of the noises Liam makes while washing his face in the bathroom. There's the familiar gurgle from the taps and crinkling as he takes a tiny soap out of its tiny plastic wrapper, a soft little gasp as he Zayn pictures Liam splashing his face with cold water. He wonders if he'll dream about tonight and their room and the small life they've built together in front of the bathroom mirror._ _

__Zayn keeps his eyes closed even as he hears Liam come out of the bathroom and start to undress. He can hear the clink of Liam's belt as he pries it open and the rough noise of his jeans getting tugged off. Zayn has seen Liam do it so many times he can picture it easily against the backs of his eyelids, the movement of the muscles in his back and the flex of his ribs as he leans over to pick up his shirt._ _

__Liam turns off the lights and the next thing Zayn can feel is the weight of him sinking into bed beside him. There's a lot of squirming and rustling in the bed as Liam tries to get into a comfortable position. He feels so near it's almost unbearable, the heat of his body close enough that Zayn can feel it almost like an aura beside him. Carefully, very carefully, Liam rolls over onto his stomach and gently puts his arm across Zayn's stomach._ _

__"I'm still awake," Zayn mumbles, keeping his eyes closed._ _

__"Oh," Liam says. "Sorry."_ _

__Zayn can feel Liam pull his hands away. "No, no, it's cool, I just wanted to say goodnight."_ _

__"Oh. O-okay," Liam whispers. "Night, Zaynie."_ _

__"Sleep well, Liam," Zayn says, not even sure if he's saying things out loud anymore._ _

__"Thanks," Liam says quietly._ _

__Just as Zayn loses himself to exhaustion, just as he's about to fall asleep for real, he feels the pressure of Liam's arm sliding over his stomach again, under the blankets but over Zayn's t-shirt. It's not much, just a touch, just Liam's broad palm and calloused fingers keeping them tied together against the rushing current of sleep._ _

____

*

Zayn swears he only just put his head to the pillow when Liam's alarm wakes him up. Zayn would almost be able to sleep through it if only it weren't for the sudden shock of cold next to him when Liam rolls out of bed.

Opening his eyes, Zayn squints against the dim light of the lamp Liam flicks on.

"Sorry," Liam whispers as he notices Zayn. "I'll be gone in a second."

Zayn just groans. "Come back. Who cares about fucking hockey?"

Liam laughs gently at that, still keeping everything quiet. "Sorry, Zayn."

Zayn watches as Liam slips into a pair of sweatpants and goes into the bathroom. The noise of Liam brushing his teeth filters into Zayn's exhausted half-dream, and part of him feels lonely: lonely for being able to go back to sleep once Liam leaves, lonely for not being beside him at the mirror like he should be. 

It isn't long before Liam is back out of the bathroom. Before picking up his bag, he walks up next to Zayn and stands by the side of the bed.

"I'll see you before the game, okay?" Liam says.

"Okay," Zayn says blearily. "Good luck, Liam. Kick some ass, man."

Liam chuckles a little and reaches down to ruffle Zayn's hair a little. His hand lingers there for a second, so gentle Zayn is almost certain he's imagining it, and Liam brushes a knuckle over the line of Zayn's cheekbones, down to touch his jaw so feather-light it feels like nothing at all.

"See ya," Liam says before he pulls his hand away. 

"Liam?" Zayn mumbles.

"Yeah?"

Zayn wills his eyes open, shifts a little to raise his head from the pillow. "You know I love you, right?"

It comes so easily, so abruptly that Zayn doesn't even realise what he's said until he notices Liam's face and the way his hesitant smile fades into confusion. Zayn isn't even sure why he said it, something to do with the who-gives-a-fuck confidence of four hours of sleep and being half-awake, maybe, but he says it before he has a chance to realise how stupid it sounds, how odd, how different it is than saying _I love you_ to Niall or Louis or Harry. Though he sounds tired and out-of-place, Zayn knows his voice is filled with something else as well, something that makes Liam open his mouth slightly and furrow his brow.

"Oh, uh," Liam says, rubbing the back of his neck. Even in the dim light Zayn can see Liam's face flush red, not the blush of embarrassment but something else entirely. "I – oh. You should – you should go back to bed, Zayn."

"Okay," Zayn mumbles, letting his head fall back on his pillow. 

"Sleep well," Liam whispers, taking a few steps away.

"Thanks," Zayn mutters as he closes his eyes again. He doesn't hear Liam leave, but he knows the missing space next to him like a hole in his chest.

*

There's a knock at the door. Zayn rolls over in bed, but then there's a second machine-gun staccato. And a third. His phone says it's 10:45 and, groaning like his dad does when he gets out of his chair, Zayn rolls out of bed and pads to the door in his t-shirt and boxers.

"Hey," Niall says when Zayn opens the door. He's holding a takeout bag of McDonalds, shoving it into Zayn's arms as he walks in. "Breakfast."

If it weren't for Niall barging in Zayn probably would have forgotten the details of his brief morning chat with Liam, but now it all comes back in a rush even before Zayn has a chance to even wake up fully. Niall carries with him the question – _did you tell him?_ – and suddenly everything he said that morning start to come back like waves. 

It's a lot like a dream that starts to fade the moment you wake up, the details of it slipping through Zayn's fingers like a fistful of sand. He only remember bits and pieces – Liam's hand touching his hair, the way _I love you_ left Zayn's lips as easily as a tiger walking through the wide-open doors of its cage – but it's the shape of that morning that sticks with Zayn: the uncertainty of Liam's expression and the sharp angles made by that single sentence, the walls Zayn put up instead of breaking down.

"Where is – where are the boys?" Zayn says, closing the door behind Niall and flopping back into bed. 

Niall takes Liam's side of the mattress, slipping off his shoes and jumping in next to Zayn. He sits up with his back against the headboard, taking the remote from Liam's nightstand and turning on the TV. "Still at practice. They got a late start." Niall finds a documentary about the upcoming Winter Olympics and puts the remote down. "We'll probably need to get lost soon, they'll want a nap before the game."

"Yeah, that makes sense," Zayn says. "But what are we going to do? What do you guys do during these trips?"

"Who knows," Niall says happily, making the uncertainty sound like an adventure. "There's a bunch of stores here, we could just wander around. There's a movie theatre, too."

Impulsively, Zayn wants to turn him down. The troubled look on Liam's face is the only thing Zayn can really vividly remember from that morning, and it's enough to make Zayn anxious and closed-off. He kind of just wants to go to sleep again, to get to a place where he can forget the fool he made of himself, where he can have clouded dreams and wake up to find that maybe he misremembered Liam's wide-eyed helplessness, the way he looked at Zayn like he suddenly didn't understand anything at all.

It just takes Niall being here to make Zayn realise that he should get some air, _needs_ to get some air or he'll go crazy. He can already hear Niall's voice in his head, _don't over-think it_ , and (with the reluctance Zayn always has when he realises someone else is right) he says: "Okay, sure, sounds good."

*

Niall is great at making the world easy and Zayn will always be fucking thankful for that. He just has this way of smoothing out the sharp edges of things, Niall never getting bored because he's just so ready to fall in love with everything that comes along like another twist in a great story he's writing.

They waste most of the day in the stores near their hotel. It's a sort of plaza, a bunch of strip malls all stuck together in the same place. A Wal-Mart, a bookstore, a Starbucks, a grocery store, clothing stores of every kind, chain restaurants and Vietnamese and sushi all side-by-side. There's snow everywhere, enormous piles of it left in the middle of the walking paths because there's no other place to put it. The gutters are completely frozen over, rivers of ice that make walking difficult. It's not actually snowing any more but the wind is sharp and bitter, forcing them to take shelter in every third store they pass.

It's not much of a walk but Niall's crutches make it an adventure. It's well past noon by the time they make it to the other side of the plaza and find – much to Niall's delight – a liquor store. 

"How about it?" Niall asks, huffing warm breath into his palms as they stop in front of the store.

"Get some beers, go watch a movie?" Zayn asks.

"Perfect," Niall says, his eyes lighting up. "Stay out here, I've got my fake ID. What do you want?"

"Keith's Red?"

"Perfect," Niall says again, picking up his crutches again. "Absolutely perfect, man."

As they make the long walk back to the movie theatre, Zayn can't help but wonder why Niall hasn't asked him _the question_ again. It lingers between them in the air, like Niall is avoiding it by acting cheerful about everything else, but Zayn can smell it like blood on the wind. Finally, unable to hold it in any longer, Zayn breaks.

"Did you see the guys before they went to practice?" Zayn asks, holding the paper bag of cold beer under his jacket and close to his chest.

"Yeah, for a few minutes," Niall says.

"Did you talk to Liam?" Zayn asks next, hoping he sounds as casual as he wishes he felt.

"A little," Niall says, still sounding happily distracted. It could be real or it could be feigned; Niall is just so happy in general it's hard to tell when he's avoiding something by pretending there's nothing wrong. 

"Okay," Zayn says, leaving it at that.

"Wanna see _The Lego Movie_?" Niall asks next, his segue so smooth that Zayn feels a glimmer of hope that maybe Liam didn't mention it, or it wasn't as bad as Zayn thought it could be. 

It's only when Niall turns to look at Zayn that the hope floods out of him, because in that second Zayn catches a single flash of sympathy in Niall's eyes, a blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of apology that explains why Niall didn't ask _the question_.

Zayn doesn't blink, and he doesn't miss it. "Yeah, okay," Zayn says quietly.

*

Niall might like an adventure but he's terrible at scheduling them. The movie ends only fifteen minutes before the bus is set to leave for the arena and they have to make a frantic dash back to the hotel.

"Did you like it?" Niall manages to ask through their heavy breathing as they turn a corner and see the bus idling cold in front of the hotel lobby.

"Yeah," Zayn says, always keeping a half-step behind Niall in case he slips, just like Liam did down by the lake. "It was pretty great."

"Wish the other guys coulda seen it," Niall says, doing his best with his crutches, skidding over the ground faster than Zayn could ever skate.

"Yeah," Zayn says. "That would've been great. I'd love to watch it with – I'd love to have the boys see it."

This afternoon was meant to be a distraction, something to keep Zayn's mind off of the morning, but of course that didn't happen because they end up going to see exactly the kind of movie Liam would absolutely adore. It's got everything he loves most: cartoonish violence, catchy songs, mindless enthusiasm, and Batman starring as a world class asshole. 

How many times have they had that argument? How many times have they stayed up late watching _The Dark Knight_ together while Zayn tries to explain why Bruce Wayne is such a dick and Liam sticks his fingers in his ears and yells? 

It's the kind of experience that Zayn wants to have with Liam, like when he watches a great new TV show and aches to see Liam at school the next day so they can plan a marathon, or when he hears an awesome new song and sends a YouTube link to Liam at one in the morning (almost always getting an immediate and enthusiastic response along with a reminder that Zayn should really go to bed now). 

The doors of the bus close right after Niall works his way aboard. Liam is sitting right at the front and talking intently with the Coach, but he stops when he sees Zayn. There's a moment's pause between them, like a record skipping or a heart missing a beat, a moment that almost swallows Zayn whole, but then Liam smiles and gives Zayn a little wave hello.

Zayn smiles and waves back. It takes everything in him to keep smiling as he walks away.

They're only inches apart when Zayn passes to make his way down to where Louis and Harry are sitting at the back of the bus, but it feels like miles, it feels like he's waving across a canyon. 

For some reason, Zayn remembers the sight of Niall's dad in his basement workshop, looking over Liam's shoulder and saying hello. _An easy fix, no worries_. Zayn has no tools, and Zayn has no experience, and as he sits down next to Louis and the bus sets off Zayn can see the huge cracks in the foundation of his life but he doesn't have a clue what to do except to watch the house he has built with Liam fall apart.

"Hey, man! Ready to cheer us on?" Louis asks Zayn, nudging an elbow against his ribs.

Zayn doesn't say anything, can't make his throat work. 

"Zayn?" Louis says.

Zayn just slouches lower in his seat and puts his head on Louis' shoulder. There's a moment of silence before Zayn feels Louis rest his temple against the crown of Zayn's head, a hand sliding over to pat his knee twice before he keeps it there.

*

Zayn manages to get in a sneaky cigarette before the game starts. He's down in the bowels of the arena where all the walls are painted concrete and noises echo from one end of the stadium to the other. There's a service door that Zayn props open, leaning out to have one last smoke before Niall meets up with him and they take their seats.

The away team locker room isn't too far from where Zayn's standing. Out of the corner of his eye he can see all sorts of people walking in and out of the swinging doors; the Coach, Harry carrying bags of equipment, people from the arena holding water bottles and hockey tape and plastic mouth guards. It's a flurry of activity and Zayn can feel the tension in the air. He can only imagine what's going through Liam's head right now.

Zayn knows that he fucked this up, putting more weight on Liam's shoulders when he should be taking some away. Zayn thought that by saying it out loud, by telling Liam the truth, he would somehow make things easier. He wanted to clear the air so they could get back to their old friendship again, but Zayn knows there was something in his voice that spooked Liam. That spooked _himself_ , really. It was most than just the texture of a sleepy morning, it was something much larger than Zayn ever knew was there. 

And worst of all, Zayn knows that he fucked this up. He wanted to take the weight from Liam's shoulders, not add more, not add so much that there isn't enough ice in the world he can put on Liam's strained muscles and knotted shoulders.

It's only a few minutes before the game starts and Zayn tosses the last half-inch of his cigarette into a snowbank near the door. He's shivering as he steps back inside the arena, the halls down here chilled almost as cold as the rink. Niall's still in the dressing room with the rest of the guys, so Zayn waits for him, leaning against the wall opposite the swinging doors.

Zayn spots Liam through the small glass window a second before Liam pushes the doors open. Liam doesn't seem surprised that Zayn is there, so he must have known, must have planned this.

"Hey," Zayn says meekly.

Liam is fully dressed for the game. Pads on, helmet in his hands, but still in socked feet. If he's this close to the start of the game but still not laced up Zayn knows that this is serious. 

"Hey," Liam says.

Zayn takes a deep breath and resists the urge to look at the ground or rub the back of his neck, tries to seem casual and not at all ashamed of what he said that morning. It's a lie because he is, he really is ashamed, but he doesn't want Liam to think that he's ashamed of him. "I'm sorry about –"

"What did you mean by it?" Liam asks urgently. He almost never interrupts Zayn and that's enough to make Zayn's stomach leap.

"Mean by what?" Zayn hates himself for asking that. "No, sorry, no, I get it. I know what."

"What did you mean?" Liam asks again, his voice edging on desperation.

"I – I don't know," Zayn stutters. He knows he's fucking up, he knows he's totally going against his vow to make Liam's life easier – both of their lives easier, their friendship the easiest thing Zayn's ever had in his life until now– but he just can't say it because he honestly doesn't _know_. "I was just. I wanted you to know that I –"

"That you what?" Liam asks again. It isn't demanding or angry, it's almost like a plea, like he's asking to be put out of his misery. 

It would be so simple, all Zayn would need to say is that he meant it out of friendship, that he wants to be there for Liam, that things haven't changed and they're exactly who they always were: best friends. But it's a lie, it just feels like a lie when Zayn tries to say it because that's not the right definition, the wrong for what he feels for Liam right now.

"I don't know," Zayn says again, shaking his head. "It was really early and – I was, like, really tired and –"

"Oh," Liam says softly. Someone yells his name from inside the locker room. "Oh, yeah, okay –"

"Liam, just – just tell me what's wrong," Zayn says so quietly it's almost a mumble. Liam looks Zayn right in the eyes and he actually looks like he's about to cry, a wetness in the corner of his eyes and his lip trembling like there's a word balanced there he's too afraid to say. "What's – what's going on between us? Why is it different? What have – what've I done? Please, tell me, I just want to – fix it and –"

It's definitely Louis yelling Liam's name, and he does it again. Liam looks over his shoulder in distraction before he looks at Zayn again. "I – it's nothing, it's fine," Liam says. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry for –"

"I'm your best friend," Zayn tries desperately, "you can tell me whatever the fuck you want. Why can't you fucking tell me?"

Liam looks terrified, genuinely scared. Louis calls his name again and it's like something in Liam breaks, something that was calm and assured that breaks and falls apart between them. "I've gotta go – sorry, I – I have to go."

"Liam," Zayn tries one more time but Liam is already pushing his way back into the locker room and Zayn falls heavily back against the brick wall as the doors close behind him. "Good luck," Zayn says quietly to no one in particular.

*

The seats Niall gets for them are pretty good, right in the center of the arena and six or seven rows behind the home team bench. The stadium, isn't as full as it would be for a league game, only one or two thousand people Zayn would guess. He's only been to a real full-sized hockey arena once before, in Toronto during a school trip when he was ten, and even then he only really cared about the Zamboni.

"What's wrong?" Niall asks. The couple sitting next to them move over to give Niall room for his crutches, and the moment he finally settles down he's on Zayn like a hawk.

Zayn hates knowing he's wearing his sadness so obviously, but even if he wasn't Niall knows him well enough that he can feel the cracks in Zayn's chest. "Nothing," Zayn says.

"Oh, come the fuck on," Niall says warmly, putting a hand on Zayn's knee. "Dude, don't do this to me."

Why is it so easy to say these worried, angular things to Niall and not to Liam? Why does Niall asking Zayn to open up about this seem all right when he couldn't even make his voice work when Liam asked him the same fucking thing? It's almost the exact same conversation he had with Liam, but Zayn actually feels the words come, like the parted Red Sea crashing back together.

"I just – I fucked up, Niall." Zayn's voice is raspy as he says it, rough like a thousand smoked cigarettes. "I think I really fucked up."

"Did you tell him?" Niall asks softly.

"Yeah."

"And that fucked things up?" Niall asks, sounding genuinely confused. 

"Yeah."

"How?" Niall asks again, so gently that it almost makes Zayn break down.

"'Cause I – because I think I ended up saying way too much," Zayn says.

Niall looks confused but he doesn't ask anything else, he just looks back at the rink as the players start flooding out onto the ice. It makes sense: for Niall the truth is always the easiest way to go, but Zayn knows himself too well, all too aware of the shit he keeps hidden for good reason.

Even from this far away Zayn picks Liam out from the crowd of skaters milling about in circles around their half of the ice. It's automatic, searching him out like this, and it's hard not watching the smooth way Liam makes his way around the rink. It's the usual first line-up, Louis and Liam taking the lead together, crouched forward as they make their way to center ice. 

Zayn doesn't even realise his knee is bouncing until Niall reaches over and puts his hand on Zayn's leg to still him. It's a nervous tic Zayn never knew he had, only now realising how fucking nervous he is about this hockey game. It feels like it means something Zayn can't explain, something much bigger than it ought to be, that the stakes of this game are more than another win or loss notched into a belt. 

The game starts with a roar of the crowd. Zayn can't get into it though, the excitement that bubbles around him. It's the difference between watching a game for fun and watching a game when there's money riding on the outcome, and right now Zayn feels like he put every cent he has on this match. 

Bright lights, somehow crisper and louder in the chill of the arena; the smell of beer and hotdogs around them; the crowd chanting and jeering. It's like a joy Zayn can't touch, standing outside of any fun that could be had right now as he watches the way Liam skates and wonders if the change they've both been dreading happened long ago and they're only just now finding out.

Maybe they haven't been friends for months, and Liam only noticed now when Zayn said too much. What if this has been broken so long that it can't be fixed?

Ten minutes into the first period, Zayn starts to notice Niall's frown, the way he sometimes shakes his head when Liam's on the puck. No one has scored yet, but Niall doesn't seem pleased at all.

"What's wrong?" Zayn finally asks, something in the back of his head telling him that this is his fault.

"Liam's off his game," Niall says quietly. Niall does a good job of sounding neutral, just an observation, but Zayn knows they're both thinking the same thing. "He's getting really sloppy. This totally isn't like him."

Zayn doesn't reply. He wants to apologize: to Niall, to the team, to _Liam_ for fucking up the one great thing Liam has in his life. The one great thing.

Even though Zayn doesn't know a lot about the technical side of hockey he's seen enough games to know that something is off. That chemistry the newspapers always talk about is gone, the first line fucking up a lot of opportunities without even the hope of rallying. 

Soon, it doesn't take an expert to know that things are really messed up. With only seven minutes left in the period Liam suddenly takes a huge cross-check from one of the Ottawa players and slams hard against the glass. 

Before he even knows what he's doing Zayn is out of his seat, standing up with his fists balled at his sides as he stares down into the frozen pit where Liam is sprawled out on the ice. The crash of the boards rings like a struck gong in Zayn's ears, drowning out everything else out. The sight of Liam going down replays over and over behind Zayn's eyes until it feels like the grinding tension of a headache.

Zayn has seen Liam take hits before, but nothing like this. When Liam picks himself up off the ground his gloves hit the ice and his helmet too, and suddenly he's on the other players like a pack of dogs. 

"Holy shit," Niall says in awe. "Holy _fuck_."

In almost eight years of watching Liam play hockey Zayn has never once seen Liam fight. He's heard enough rants from Liam about how fighting ruins the elegance of the game that this leaves Zayn breathless, the air shucked from his lungs. Liam is fighting, he's actually fighting with another player, grappling at jerseys and trying to swing him around, clumsy and awful and raw as he looks for a punch to throw.

The crowd is crazy, booing and cheering, and Zayn hates every fucking one of them. His fingernails dig hard crescents into the palms of his hands and he the noise in the arena is like the rush of waves, like putting his ear to a seashell and hearing the rough thump of his wildly beating heart pulsing in his throat.

Liam gets in a few good hits before the other player punches Liam right in the face, getting him hard in the mouth. Drops of blood land bright red on the ice, so red it almost looks fake, corn syrup instead of the iron taste of Liam's bleeding lip. 

Stupid, savage things jump in Zayn's head and he almost loses control, starts looking for ways he could get onto the rink and beat the shit out of the other guy. From the other side of the ice Louis comes barrelling in, losing his helmet and gloves as he sprints towards Liam, desperately trying to back him up in the fight. Zayn can actually hear Louis' voice even in all this noise, his shout of _get the fuck off him_ doing nothing but getting Zayn's blood hotter.

The referee interferes before Louis has time to get in a punch, pulling Liam away from the Ottawa player and finally breaking up the fight. It only lasted a few seconds, but it felt like hours, watching Liam get hit, watching helplessly from the stands.

"What's going on?" Zayn shouts at Niall.

"Five for fighting," Niall says, the awe in his voice miserable and distant.

"Liam got a penalty?" Zayn knows he's shouting but he can't help it, he has nowhere to put this rage. "The other guy fucking slammed him up against the boards!"

"Liam started the fight," Niall says. "I've never – that was – Liam never –" Niall swallows hard and looks up at Zayn, giving him that same sympathetic look he did when he thought Zayn wasn't looking. Well, Zayn is looking this time.

"Fuck," Zayn says. "Fuck. _Fuck_." The red heat of the fight drains out of him like blood from a wound and Zayn sinks down into his seat. He feels Niall's hand on his shoulder and he doesn't fight it. Just as fast as all the heat came, Zayn suddenly feels the frigid bite of the air in the arena and feels his body become brittle. "I love him," Zayn says quietly.

"I know," Niall says, rubbing Zayn's back in a slow circle.

"No, like, I really love him," Zayn says, almost hiccupping. He doesn't even try to pull himself together, no, he just lets that wound bleed out. "I'm in love with him. I love Liam, I love him."

Niall doesn't say anything, he just continues to rub Zayn's back.

"Fuck," Zayn says again. "Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_."

Zayn watches as Liam skates slowly to the penalty box and climbs in. Zayn is too far to see his expression but the minute Liam sits down he just drops his face into his palms and stays there, as still as marble, not moving for the whole five minutes.

*

Once his penalty is over, Liam is benched for the rest of the game. During the break after the second period, Zayn leaves the arena by the front doors and doesn't come back. He tells Niall to text him when the game's over and excuses himself, giving a half-lie about needing a cigarette. Zayn does need a cigarette, but that's not why he leaves.

Niall is kind enough to pretend he doesn't know why.

Zayn leaves by the front doors of the arena, running down the stairs and out one of the dozens of glass doors to the winter night. There are very few people hanging around outside; some scalpers, taxi drivers waiting for the end of the game, a college-age dude puking his guts out in one of the garbage cans, but Zayn is mostly left alone, thank God.

Lighting the cigarette as he walks away from the arena Zayn sucks in smoke like it's the first gasp of air after a dive. His fingers shake as he smokes but his head is remarkably empty, like there's just too much to take in his. His body responds to the adrenaline – dizziness, heavy breathing, his heart thudding like a machine gun – but he thinks about nothing.

It's not until Zayn chains his third cigarette that his chest starts to loosen. Zayn's not dressed for this weather, dark and cold and windy and missing the hoodie Liam let him wear on the bus, but he sits on a stone wall anyway and puffs at his cigarette more thoughtfully, less desperately. The cold bleeds through his jeans quickly, numbing Zayn's thighs, but still he doesn't move.

As the freezing weather starts to grip at Zayn's body the fear comes back too. He wants to think that this is baffling, he wants to wonder how this all went so wrong, but he knows. He knows like a truth he's carried inside him for a long time. 

Zayn never lied to Liam but he never said anything honest, either. He likes to think that they've never kept secrets from each other, but then there are all the times where Zayn shuffled closer to Liam while they slept, and the way he wants kick ass if someone so much as looks at Liam the wrong way, and the need to be by his side, and the way _on your team_ had nothing to do with hockey and everything to do with belonging to Liam, and the soft and desperate wish that hid underneath easy words like _best friend_.

Liam knows.

It's a shock that kicks Zayn in the chest with cold. Liam must know, and Zayn doesn't blame him for how he's reacting. It's as if Zayn stole something from him, that by falling in love he deprived Liam of an actual friend, a friend Liam sorely deserves. That's what hurts the most, knowing that he's taken a friendship of eight years from Liam, leaving him alone because Zayn is too selfish to just be a good friend who doesn't muddy the waters with complicated fucked up shit like this.

Zayn's phone buzzes with a text. It's from Niall: _Louis saved the day, boys won :)_. There's a moment's pause before another text comes through. _Back on the bus in 30 ok?_. Zayn texts back in the affirmative but he wonders if he shouldn't get a taxi back to the hotel and start to give Liam some space.

It doesn't matter what he wants because, like an idiot, Zayn doesn't have his wallet, or a good explanation about why he'd want to go his own way, so he's stuck with honestly like a rock in his throat.

The next thirty minutes pass with more cigarette smoke and more chest-clenching fear, but no more thinking. There's at least one thing he can do right for Liam: he can be fucking honest, even if it means the end of their friendship. It's the hardest fucking thing Zayn can imagine doing, but he knows that Liam deserves it. He deserves the fucking truth, he deserves more than Zayn always pretending that he doesn't care about hockey, about their lives, about how much he fucking loves Liam. 

Zayn steps on his last cigarette and walks back into the arena against the flow of people leaving after the game. Zayn's never been great at making good choices but he decides it's about time he starts.

*

The bus ride back to the hotel is loud and happy. Everyone is celebrating, yelling about how great Louis is (while Louis smugly takes it all in, preening and grinning), the guys planning a party back at the hotel to celebrate. Their bus back to Sudbury doesn't leave until noon tomorrow and victory parties are always better than drinking to get over a defeat.

Zayn thinks he's the only one on this bus who feels fucked up, but he's wrong. 

Liam is sitting at the front of the bus with the coach again, but this time they're not having a conversation. Liam is looking down at his hands (and Zayn doesn't need to see to know that Liam is picking at the skin around his nails like he always does when he's upset) and the coach is talking very seriously with him, a quiet lecture that Zayn can't hear but can feel almost as hard as a slap. 

It's a ridiculous fucking coincidence that they're the only two people here not celebrating this win, just one more thing tying them together. It's so easy to share in Liam's enthusiasm for everything, to take his joy and run with it, but it turns out Zayn is just as good at being broken with Liam, too.

*

Wanting to tell the truth is easy, a kind of heroic determination that never needs to go beyond Zayn's heart, but going through with it is next to impossible. Zayn just doesn't have Niall's belief that things will turn out for the best, he doesn't have the courage his parents seem to think he does, he doesn't have anything other than evasive glances and dumb excuses about why he can't come celebrate the win tonight.

"You fucking will," Louis says as they get off the bus together, putting a hand on Zayn's shoulder and guiding him into the lobby of the hotel. "We're toasting how great I am. You can't miss it."

"Haven't I done that enough?"

Louis does a quick glance over Zayn's shoulder, and Zayn knows that Niall must be giving him some kind of signal. "Too bad," Louis says, turning to look at Zayn again, seemingly even more intent on getting Zayn to join them now, "you're shit out of luck."

Every reason Zayn could think of to get out of the party sounds petty, and he knows that the only alternative is hiding out in the room he shares with Liam, and he's not ready to start thinking about how he'll get through the night with him. A shared mattress has always meant home for Zayn, but now it's like a bed of nails.

Zayn could just chicken out, he could avoid telling Liam what's on his mind and he could live in this fucked up limbo he's got right now; stuck somewhere between the friend Liam thinks he is and friend Zayn wants to be. He could just ignore the issue and pretend everything's all right, continuing the lie just so he can stay with Liam a bit longer. 

And then Zayn sees Liam get off the bus with the coach. He can see the red scab of Liam's split lip in his frown and the heaviness on his shoulders like he's holding the earth on his back and Zayn knows what he has to do. 

"Okay, sure," Zayn says. "Let's get drunk."

The party is thrown together last minute, some of the older players making the quick trip to the liquor store Niall and Zayn hit up earlier that day, the rest of the guys piling into Louis and Harry's hotel room. 

All the lights are on, an iPod plugged into portable speakers, a dozen chairs brought in from the other rooms they've booked out on this floor, all the makings for a great night that Zayn is beginning to dread.

As it gets later and more people start showing up Zayn just wants to bolt from the room and leave the hotel and smoke a thousand cigarettes until Liam is safely in bed and Zayn can sleep on the floor or something. Anything but being in a room full of people celebrating while his stomach churns with worry.

When the liquor starts flowing and the windows of the room are cranked open for a lit joint, there's something like fight or flight in Zayn's head, an edgy feeling of panic as he can't decide what the fuck he can do. He's not even sure if he's waiting for Liam to show up, but the worry begins to feel like the beating of birds' wings in his chest and it takes a second before Zayn realises it's his heartbeat out of control and he needs to split or he'll come apart at the seams.

The choice is made for him, though: just when Zayn thinks he needs to get out of here and run for it Liam walks in the door and Zayn knows what he has to do.

Fight.

The guys on this team are good people, Zayn knows that for sure. Not one of them even mentions Liam's penalty, they simply welcome him to the party like they always do: high-fiving and, slapping his back and giving him rub-crunching hugs. It's enough love that Liam even cracks a smile, but only Zayn watches Liam long enough to see it fade away.

Zayn doesn't really plan it, but he ends up staying on the opposite side of the room from Liam for the first hour of the night. Louis joins the boys by the window, sharing puffs from their badly rolled joint, his arm slung over Zayn's shoulder and keeping him tight by his side. 

"You want?" Louis asks, his voice tight and high as he holds a breath of smoke in his lungs. He holds the joint out for Zayn, pinched between thumb and forefinger, and Zayn almost takes it. Fight or flight.

"Nah, not really in the mood," Zayn says. He has been offered half-a-dozen rum and cokes, bottles of beer, but if Zayn is going to be honest he's going to do it sober. No exhausted admissions at dawn, no sentences he can't properly think out before hand, nothing that he doesn't actually mean. 

If he's going to go to the firing squad he's not going to wear a blindfold.

The first time it happens it's an accident. The wind coming through the open windows is cold and Zayn crosses his arms over his chest just as Louis tightens his grip, keeping him close to his side. It's a shiver up his spine that distracts Zayn from Louis' conversation, absently scanning the room. He's not really looking for anyone in particular, but his gaze lands on Liam, Liam who is already looking in Zayn's direction.

They both look away quickly, like a spark of electricity arced through the air between them. Zayn looks back through the open window to the landscape of lights outside while Liam turns back to his conversation with Harry. 

It's strange being cold and not having Liam by his side. 

Zayn never realised how much he connects the winter with Liam until he doesn't have him, doesn't have his offered hoodie or his truck warming up ready to take them to school, doesn't have the extra pair of mittens Liam packed because he knew Zayn would forget, doesn't have Liam to whine to about how much he hates this season. Without Liam it's just fucking cold out there, no lights, no beauty, just fucking ice.

The next time they look at each other isn't an accident. Zayn looks for Liam this time, just a quick check to see how he's doing. Liam doesn't seem that wounded, he even laughs as he talks to Harry, but there's still a tenderness to him. His eyes a little puffy like he's been crying, his fingers picking at the skin around his nails even as he's chatting with Harry, and then a nervous little twitch of his head as he looks in Zayn's direction.

The third time they look at each other Zayn doesn't look away. He sucks in his bottom lip and chews on it, raising his eyebrows slightly in a way that means _how you holding up?_ , hoping that silent communication he has with Liam still works. It must, because Liam gives a little shrug of his shoulders, a quirk in the corner of his lips that Zayn knows means _I dunno_. The fact that Zayn can still translate these things gives him the tiniest sliver of hope that maybe everything isn't all fucked up, but then as easy as it started Liam looks away.

"Okay," Harry suddenly says for all the room to hear. He stands up and points right at Zayn. "You. Out. Now."

"What?" Zayn asks, looking at Louis for back up.

"Harry?" Louis asks.

"Go," Harry says, looking at Liam this time as he points towards the open door of the hotel room. Liam is grasping onto Harry's other hand, trying to tug him down again, shaking his head quickly like he's trying to take back something he said. Harry smiles down at Liam, touches his cheek gently. "Go talk to him and don't come back in until you two sort this out."

"What are you doing, Harry?" Louis asks, a comfortable arm still draped across Zayn's shoulders.

"These two," Harry says, looking at Louis in a way that makes it obvious that this isn't the first time this topic has come up. "They need to go and talk."

"Do ya?" Louis asks Zayn.

"No," Zayn says quietly. He really wanted this to come about naturally, he wanted to tell Liam in his own time, but Harry seems to understand better than Zayn that _in his own time_ is beginning to feel like never.

"As assistant manager of this team –" Harry starts.

"Assistant _to_ the manager," Niall says to a laugh from a few of the boys.

Harry looks at Niall and puts a finger up to his lips to shush him. "As, uh, equipment manager of this team, I feel that it's up to me –"

"Harry, what are you doing, babe?" Louis asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Conflict resolution," Harry says proudly. "When two members of _my team_ aren't getting along, I think it's time they sort this out. For the good of us all."

"Harry, we don't need to – not right now," Liam says, almost urgently.

"Yeah, Harry," Niall says, looking across the room at Zayn and giving him a sympathetic smile. "Maybe there's a better time for this –"

"There isn't, and yes you do have to right now," Harry says. "Out," he says, and then turns to look at Zayn. "You're on this team too, friend. Both of you out of here. Go go go. Resolve some conflicts. I'm a very good manager and I am taking control of this situation." Harry nods proudly as Louis gives him a sarcastic round of applause. "Look at me being a great manager. Everyone look."

It's the fourth time Liam and Zayn have looked at each other since the party started, but it's the first time Liam's look of confusion actually makes Zayn laugh. 

It's just that Liam looks like he's thinking the exact same thing that Zayn is: _how did we become friends with these idiots?_ It's the same conspiratorial glance they share whenever Louis comes up with some fantastic disaster, or when Harry buys a new ridiculous shirt, or when Niall goes running down an icy street with his crutches. 

In that split-second, it's like nothing has changed, that this party is just like any of the dozens they've had together, the two of them feeling like the only two rational people in the room.

It's almost like it always was. Almost.

"I'm not kidding," Harry says, tugging Liam to standing and giving him a little nudge towards the door. "Out, out, out."

"You heard him," Louis says, finally pulling his arm away from Zayn and giving him a push as well. "Give me my captain back, dude."

Zayn frowns at Louis. "Are you all in on this –" 

"Yes," Niall, Harry, and Louis say in unison. "Bye, Zayn."

It's the first time Liam and Zayn have touched since their conversation before the game, their shoulders brushing as Louis and Harry push them out into the hotel hallway and close the door behind them.

*

The hallway is strangely quiet and hollow with the party locked away. The music is reduced to a dull thump, like a heart beating through the walls, and the sudden emptiness of the hotel and the musty smell of the carpets feels like totally the wrong place to do this.

Zayn longs for the vanilla-and-sweat smell of their room, or the fabric softener and cologne of Liam's bedroom, not just some hotel hallway as he prepares to start maybe the worst conversation he'll ever have.

Neither of them seems willing to break the silence. It's only when Liam finally looks up from where he's curling his toes into the plush carpet that Zayn gets a good look at what the fight on the ice did. Red on his lip, matching the red in his cheeks.

"Listen –"

"Hey –"

They speak at the exact same time and stop dead in their tracks, awkwardly glancing at each other and up down the halls to make sure they're alone.

"You go first," Zayn says.

"No, no, sorry, you go first," Liam insists.

Neither of them goes first. 

In the years of knowing Liam this has got to be the only time Zayn's ever felt awkward talking to him. Up until this last month Zayn couldn't even imagine what standing in front of Liam and not having a fucking thing to say would even feel like. This boy who Zayn has trusted everything with, this boy who Zayn's parents treat like family, this boy, this boy to whom Zayn owes the world. He stares at Liam and wonders if he's about to lose him.

"Jesus," Zayn finally whispers, hoping if he kills this silence he can kill the awkwardness too. There's a scab right in the middle of Liam's bottom lip, rusty red and brown from where the Ottawa player got in his one good punch. Liam's already-full lips seem even more red and swollen from the blow, a wound that he wears almost shyly, his pink tongue flicking over the spot compulsively when Zayn draws attention to it. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Liam says, nodding slowly.

"That guy was a piece of shit," Zayn says.

"Well, I got him too," Liam says, though he doesn't sound proud of that at all.

"That check was totally out of line," Zayn says. "He deserved what he got."

"Sure," Liam says, his voice growing quieter with every word he says.

"You don't fuck with the Payno, huh?" Zayn says. He knows he's rambling, he knows he's stalling and saying any stupid thing that comes to mind just to avoid silence, he knows he's talking like nothing changed between them but it takes Liam's sharp sniff, the quick wipe of his hand under his nose, that gets Zayn to shut up. "Sorry," Zayn whispers.

"Sorry?" Liam asks, looking up at Zayn again. There's a redness around his eyes too, a puffiness to match his lip, and Zayn hates knowing that Liam is showing the marks of their fight as well.

"I'm just – I'm sorry," Zayn says.

"Why?" Liam asks. "You didn't punch me."

"No, but –" Zayn stutters. "No, but."

"It's not your fault," Liam says, rolling one shoulder in a weak shrug. "I was just off my game."

"Because of me."

Liam doesn't answer.

"You can say it's because of me," Zayn continues. "I know it is."

"I'm just so – so confused right now," Liam goes on, interrupted by another small sniffle. "Being made captain, and school, and my family, and applying to University and thinking about those scouts who are supposed to come and see us play, and – and – and, like, our friendship, and – I just worry about you sometimes because – because –"

"I love you," Zayn says suddenly, with a fierceness that fades as soon as the words leave his lips. "I'm – fuck, I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just, like, I can't keep doing this." 

It's not any sudden bravery that makes Zayn finally say it. He's as self-conscious as he ever was and, in fact, he's probably more scared than he's ever been. He's not a better friend or a better person, not the hero his dad thinks he is or the good boy his mom does, no: the only reason Zayn finally gives in is because Liam deserves the truth and that's the one thing Zayn knows for certain right now. He's watched Liam take too many punches today to not say anything.

"You – love me?" Liam says slowly, absorbing this like it hardly touches him. Liam barely reacts, as if he's going over the algebra of Zayn's sentence to find any mistakes in the adding up. "Okay, I – I, like, I know that, Zayn. I do, honest –"

"No," Zayn says again, and he can't face Liam when he says it this time. He could say it to Niall, he could shout it at him till his throat hurt, but now the word _love_ is just a smoky breath trapped in the bottom of Zayn's lungs. "I'm – I think I'm – I know I'm –" deep breath, deep breath, "I'm in love with you. Like, I want you. I want to love you. Not like Louis or Harry or Niall, I _love_ you." Neither of them looks at each other, but once Zayn starts talking he can't stop. "Sorry," Zayn adds again. "I just can't keep doing this with you. So, now you know. You don't have to worry about me. Just. Sorry."

The silence is fucking agonising but Zayn doesn't dare turn to see how Liam takes it. Like Wile E. Coyote, Zayn has run off a cliff and somehow stupidly believes he won't fall if he doesn't look.

It's because Zayn is looking away, trying to avoid seeing what his words might have done to this friendship, that he's taken completely off-guard when Liam rushes up to him, slides his hands over Zayn's cheeks and gently, firmly, sweetly leans in and kisses him. 

It's like nothing else. Hot and soft and damp, and Zayn can feel the shape of Liam's cut lip, and he can taste the old iron of his blood, and he can feel how strong and sturdy Liam's body is. And, best of all, Zayn can feel the relief, a relief that's not just Liam's but both of theirs to share in a sigh between their mouths. 

It's the kiss of a statement, another invented phrase in their silent communication that Zayn understands right away, reading it like an open book. It takes a second before Zayn opens his mouth slightly and kisses back, but Liam waits, he doesn't let go and he waits for Zayn until they're kissing, really kissing each other.

"Say that again," Liam whispers, his breath warm on Zayn's cheek.

"I love you," Zayn says, and just the shape of those words tugs Zayn's lips into a smile. The craziness of the moment, the dread that is still knotted in Zayn's throat, it all felt so completely dominant only seconds ago but it's immediately broken by how _good_ Liam's mouth feels. 

It's as if there's no room in Zayn for anything else but this love. And Liam wants him to say _it_ again. And Zayn wants to hear himself say it again because, fuck, it sounds so damn nice, so much better than the fractured, breathless, broken things he imagined saying to Liam in dreams. 

All Zayn needs to be is as simple and direct as Niall made it seem. Just fucking tell him: "I love you. Sorry."

"I've wanted to – I've wanted to tell you for, like, the last month, dude," Liam says against Zayn's mouth. "It was eating me up inside. I thought – I thought you knew and were trying to let me down easy – I – I don't even know," Liam continues, rambling just like Zayn was doing, but instead of trying to fill the hollow conversation with noise Liam is filling up the empty places in Zayn's chest with dumb things, honest things, things to keep him warm.

"You think I'd go fucking skating if I didn't fucking love you?" Zayn asks, putting his hands on Liam's hips, letting his hands wander until they reach the small of Liam's back and Zayn pulls him in. Liam laughs at that, an earnest laugh that Zayn never knew he missed until the truth came back into this love. "Only for you, dude."

"I tried to tell you a thousand times," Liam says. "But you were always so cool, so chill, so happy to be friends that I didn't want to – to take that from you. You're – a lot fucking braver than me," Liam says, his laugh a little self-deprecating this time. "I'm so damn glad you are, too."

The word doesn't even make sense to Zayn. He can find no bravery in the times he avoided telling Liam, or in the hidden thoughts he tried to crush, or in the shame he felt in pretending he was above all this hockey shit. But there it is, on Liam's lips, the word _brave_ stamped on Zayn's mouth with a kiss, and it's only because Liam is honest that Zayn almost, almost believes him.

" _You're_ brave," Zayn says. "You're the captain." Zayn lets his lips slide into a smirk. "My captain, too, I guess."

"Yeah," Liam says, "but you're the heart of the team, Zayn. We all know it. I knew it. That's when I knew I –" Liam blushes, his voice lowering "– loved you. 'Cause – well, 'cause you're my team."

"I didn't, like, I didn't even know it myself until – well, until –" Zayn frowns, trying to think of when he really realised it, when he translated the worried ache in his gut into a phrase he was able to understand.

"When?" Liam asks with something like a mix of giddiness and embarrassment. Zayn knows exactly how that feels because he's got it pumping in his blood too, this unbelievable relief but still wondering how and why and _if_ this is even really happening.

"I just really wanted to fucking take you to see _The Lego Movie_ ," Zayn says in a rush. "I really, really do."

Liam laughs, a hiccupping ridiculous laugh that takes him a second to control. "That's when you knew?"

Zayn nods. "That's when I knew, yeah. I mean, I knew way before then, obviously, but that's when, like, it made fucking sense. You'd love it. Niall and I saw it today. You'd love it so much."

"We can definitely go see _The Lego Movie_ ," Liam says, warming to that idea instantly. "I'd really like to go with you."

For some reason that one sentence gets in Zayn like a flame, like a brushfire that warms him from cheeks to his stomach to his thighs all at once. Zayn gets lost in the idea of taking Liam somewhere, of showing him things they can love together, of making it count. It's something they've done together forever but it feels different now, it's different because _want to see a movie?_ doesn't mean the same thing as _want to see a movie with me?_ This has meaning beyond boredom and a Saturday afternoon to waste, this is being together just to be together.

It's what Zayn wants most of all, has always wanted but never sure why. It's what he wants now, to be honest.

Zayn seals that promise with a kiss, a kiss to tell Liam that yeah, we'll see the movie together, _it's a date_. He puts his arms around Liam's neck and kisses him hard, the both of them falling back together. When Liam slams his shoulders against the door of their shared hotel room he gets a look in his eyes, a whole different light coming alive inside him and Zayn knows exactly how he feels because there's a torch in his body that's burning him up from the inside too.

Liam fumbles in his pocket for the keycard and unlocks the door. His hands only leave Zayn's body for a few seconds but Zayn already wants Liam again, insists on it when they stumble inside their room and slam the door behind them. 

It's like a snowball getting bigger and bigger as it rolls, this feeling inside Zayn building to a head as they reach the privacy of their dark room. Zayn gets his arms around Liam's neck again but Liam is stronger, and when his hands skim over Zayn's ass he his grips his thighs and lifts him, carries Zayn over to the bed. Zayn clings to Liam like he did when they were skating together, curling his legs around Liam's waist and holding, that same promise to never let go echoed beautifully here. 

Liam sets Zayn down on the edge of the bed and goes in for another desperate kiss, leaning forward between Zayn's thighs as their chests brush together, Liam's familiar white T-shirt to Zayn's red plaid button-up, doubling the heat Zayn already felt inside. 

Feeling frantic is almost like the panic Zayn had before but this is so much better, frenetic and blazing and he has no idea what he wants except for _more_. Liam pulls off his t-shirt quickly, flinging it across the room, and when he comes back to Zayn his mouth crashes against his throat. Little red marks where Liam's teeth nip, soft electricity where his lips kiss those same bright spots, bringing out all these sharp gasps from Zayn.

Liam's hands get to Zayn's shirt before Zayn can, and he undoes every button so gently that Zayn almost just tells him to rip it open.

There's no room for anxiety here. Zayn can feel it hovering in the back of his mind, those crazy thoughts of _what the fuck do they think they're doing_ and how the hell did this night turn out this way, but they're burned away like a winter chill by the heat of Liam's hands running under Zayn's open shirt, tracing his ribs and slipping under the elastic waistband of his boxer shorts. 

It's the confidence Zayn always saw on Liam when he was on the ice: assured, strong, determined. He moves so slickly, everything in perfect choreography as he unbuckles his belt and then goes for Zayn's, their hands never clashing, their mouths always finding each other without difficulty. It's as if Liam planned this whole thing before, and, well, maybe it's not such a stretch considering the hundreds of times Zayn let this fantasy go on in his head before he forced himself crushed it out like a cigarette butt; imagining how Liam would undress him like this, thinking about how Liam's hockey-strong muscles felt as Zayn touched him. 

Turns out that the reality is a hell of a lot more seismic than the tiny tremors Zayn felt when it was late at night and he shamefully thought of kissing Liam.

"Ouch, shit," Liam says, suddenly jerking away from Zayn.

"What's wrong –" but Zayn stops short when he sees Liam touch a finger to his split lower lip. "Oh, shit, sorry –"

Liam's fingers come away from the cut with a pinkish smear of blood. "Sorry," Liam says. "I think I just moved weird."

Zayn starts laughing and Liam joins him, the two of them panting with lost breath, bare chests and hearts beating so close. Zayn laughs just at the wildness of it, how completely easy it was to lose himself to Liam, and he laughs because, really, what the _fuck_ are they doing? 

And can they please keep doing it?

"Does it hurt?"

Liam shrugs one shoulder. "Not enough to stop." He laughs again. "God, what are we doing?" Liam asks, echoing the same thought Zayn has a hard time fighting. 

"Whatever we want," Zayn says, the short quip sounding a lot braver than Zayn feels, all hectic and wanting.

Liam seems to like that. "Can I keep kissing you?"

"Yes, Liam. Yes you can." Zayn says with a smirk as he leans back on his elbows. His shirt splays open across his chest, his unbuttoned jeans open to the black cotton of his briefs.

"God," Liam asks, rubbing a hand over his face, revealing a smile when it comes away. "This is unreal."

Instead of answering, Zayn sighs and grabs two of the belt loops of Liam's jeans and pulls him down, making sure it _is_ real. Liam's mouth tastes red and hot, a burning copper penny, like touching a battery to the tip of his tongue. When Zayn puts his hands around Liam again they slow down, no longer feeling frantic but still wanting Liam completely. 

It's better slow, it's better when Liam palms a hand over Zayn's hard cock, through his briefs, because it gives Zayn a chance to take everything in. The taste of blood in his mouth, the smell of Liam all cheap soap and faded cologne, the slick feel of Liam's chest as their bodies slide together. 

Zayn knows he should do something, that he shouldn't just sit here and let Liam do all the work but it feels so fucking good when Liam awkwardly tugs Zayn's briefs over his dick, Liam doing the same to his own, and holds their cocks together in one of his hands. Broad palm, calloused fingers. Liam starts to jerk them both off, the heat of their cocks pressed together in his grip. It's an amazing fucking feeling, so much better than doing it alone, but that doesn't compare to Liam's mouth.

It's sloppy, dumb boyish kissing – a bit too much tongue and teeth – but Zayn wouldn't give it up for anything. Liam's attention is like a weight, Zayn can feel it pressed against him like the pressure of Liam's hand around his dick. Zayn can _feel_ the way Liam directs all his love at him. It's so much like the feeling of sharing an inside joke, or hanging out and watching TV after school and falling asleep together, or anything that's just the two of them. Their mouths press together like everything they do together: familiar, simple, and right. 

The waist of Zayn's jeans are crumpled around his ass, and Liam's are open just enough that he can get his cock out. They push their bodies together, Zayn arching his hips upwards and Liam pressing his weight down. It's more fumbling than anything, Liam's hands moving against rough denim and the waistbands of their boxers but Zayn could honestly get off just on the idea of it, just knowing what they're doing.

They rut together, groaning and saying stupid things Zayn can't even remember, and they kiss longer and longer until Zayn is gasping, keeping his breaths hot against Liam's bare shoulder. Liam is marked all over with bruises and healing cuts, the battle scars of his sport, and he hisses with pleasure every time Zayn puts his mouth to one, or his fingers dig into hidden wounds on Liam's back.

"I'm gonna –" is all Liam can say, and Zayn tastes the word with iron and salt in his mouth. 

Liam comes wet and sticky between the both of them but he doesn't stop going. Zayn can feel Liam's hand move slick with his come and that's enough for Zayn, just seeing Liam's face when he peaks and knowing that his cock is wet with Liam's come. Dirty and fast and as fumbling as any of Zayn's hook-ups with girls from school before, but so much better just to feel Liam lean down and continue kissing Zayn until he comes too. 

It sparks quick and sudden in Zayn's body, ruddy and rough pleasure and then suddenly it's like he's touched by lightning. It rips through him, makes his fingers and toes curl, and Zayn comes before he can even say anything. Liam never stops kissing him.

"Whoa," Liam says after a few seconds. Zayn can feel the mess they made slick on his hips and all the way up to his navel. Liam's hand is still between them, and when he pulls it away there's come over his knuckles. "Shit," Liam says with a laugh. "Wow."

Zayn falls back against the mattress with a sigh like a laugh. "That was pretty cool, I guess."

"Like that?" Liam asks. He takes a step away from Zayn looking stupid with his dick out and his jeans half-way down his thighs.

"Yeah," Zayn breathes out. The air is cool on his stomach and his cock, a breath of wind against it as Liam turns and waddles awkwardly into the bathroom, returning with a towel. He wipes himself up and instead of handing over the towel he cleans Zayn up too. Zayn laughs, the tickle of the rough cotton against his softening cock, and he can't stop laughing even as Liam finishes. "What the fuck are we doing?"

"Best friends, man," Liam says firmly, buckling his jeans again. He's standing in the pale light coming through their hotel window, lighting up the shape of his muscles and softening his skin like brushed silver. "We're best friends."

"I actually do really like watching hockey with you," Zayn says, leaning up on his elbows again. He does an embarrassing dance as he tries to pull his jeans on again, wriggling on the bed as he tugs them back up. "Fuck, that's almost as hard as telling you that I love you."

"Okay, but that wasn't really a secret," Liam says, his hand brushing against the side of Zayn's face, thumb running over the line of Zayn's cheekbones. "We – all kind of figured after your, like, eighth straight year watching us play. You didn't keep that one under wraps very well."

"Fuck you, it totally was a secret," Zayn says. "But, like, I tried really hard lately to be into hockey. I made a big effort, didn't you see that? Talking about your Mr. Potato Head guy and watching the Hawks game and – and I fucking skated! I was, like, being an excellent fucking friend, thank you. The things I did for you, hey, come on."

"Man, you're totally in denial," Liam says, obviously delighting in this. "You love winter. I knew I'd do it. Just accept it. Accept that you love the snow and ice and I bet you can explain the off-side rule better than I can."

Zayn likes that he can kiss Liam to shut him up now. He takes advantage of it, pulling him down and kissing Liam hungrily, wanting his mouth and the feel his words in warm breaths they share. Liam responds instantly, his hands sliding down Zayn's sides and under his ass, almost lifting him a bit to get a better angle. Zayn thinks of the dozens of other times Liam has grabbed him like this – piggy back rides, wrestling in the finished basement of Liam's house when they were kids, hitching a ride on the back of Liam's BMX – and it hardly feels any different. Zayn gets swept up in the fun of being friends with Liam like he always does when it's just them doing something that's only theirs, games and inside jokes no one on the team will ever be able to share. 

"So," Zayn says, a little out of breath. He feels the prickle of Liam's buzzcut at the back of his neck, rubbing his hand over it like everyone does for good luck. "What, uh. Like, what changes now?"

Liam pauses, puzzling on that. "Uh, I'd like to kiss you more, I guess?"

"Okay, but what else?" Zayn asks. "Are we – uh. Like. Something should change now, shouldn't it?"

"Does it have to?" Liam asks. "I mean, more kissing, obviously, but what else needs to change?"

"Well, uh," Zayn says. He tries to think of one damn thing that might change after this. Zayn can imagine telling his parents, telling the team, telling the whole damn school, but that's all to do with other people and Zayn doesn't give a shit about that right now. Truth is, there's not a single thing he does with Liam, shares with him, wants to give him that is different now that he's said those words and made them real. "I'm stumped. Just go on like normal, eh?"

"Sounds good to me," Liam says. "I like the way we are."

"Me too," Zayn says. "But I thought, like, we'd have some big life-changing event. Like, nothing would be the same or something?"

Liam shrugs. "Dunno." He looks around their empty room like he's looking for someone to give him an answer. "Nope, seems pretty much the same."

"But with more kissing," Zayn says, liking that he can say it, liking how it makes Liam look when he realises they get to do this for more than just tonight.

"More kissing, yes," Liam says. "And other stuff."

"Other stuff, yeah," Zayn says with a laugh. "Other stuff for sure."

Liam's arms are still around him, his mouth so close that Zayn can every detail of the cut in Liam's lip. For something so new, something that Zayn has dreaded (and loving) thinking about before he goes to bed, being like this in Liam's arms with the taste of him still in Zayn's mouth is oddly familiar. There's a weird sense of déjà vu to being in love with Liam, like something deep down inside of Zayn knew exactly how it would feel to be like this.

"Oh!" Liam says suddenly grinning at Zayn. "I know what's changed. We're going to go skating a lot more now, buddy."

"No," Zayn says.

"Oh yes," Liam says, kissing Zayn again.

"No fucking way," Zayn says again. "I'm not that Canadian. I'm a Canadian failure."

"You have a really weird idea about what being Canadian is," Liam says, suddenly sounding sincere. "I don't get it."

"I don't know," Zayn says, sitting upright this time. His shirt is still unbuttoned, but for once he kind of enjoys the nakedness when it's with Liam. He doesn't feel so scrawny when he knows what he can get Liam to do, and how to get him to make those noises. "My parents weren't born here, I don't play hockey, I don't like maple-flavoured shit or poutine or Toronto. I'm a disaster."

Liam shakes his head with authority, waving those away. "Zayn, you told me you loved me and then immediately apologised. If that's not being Canadian, I honestly don't know what is."

Zayn bites down on his lower lip because he doesn't know what to say. He always thought that he loved Liam differently than he loved anyone else in his life, but now he knows because nothing anyone has ever said to him has meant more than that one stupid phrase.

"I'm still not going to go skating with you," Zayn whispers, and he looks up at Liam and hopes he knows that it's a big fat lie.

"You totally will," Liam says.

"I won't," Zayn lies.

"You will," Liam says.

"I won't," Zayn lies again.

"You will, though," Liam says with a grin.

"I love you," Zayn says, nothing but the truth.

*

"Do we have to?" Zayn asks as they stand in front of the closed door, the party raging on loudly behind it.

"Just for a second," Liam says. "I need to – well, I think Niall and Harry and Louis would kill me if I didn't tell them."

"They knew?" Zayn asks. Suddenly Niall's conversations make a lot more sense. Zayn vows that he's going to punch that little twerp, God. "Fuck, of course they knew."

"They were my team," Liam says helplessly. "I couldn't _not_ tell them."

"Does everyone know?" Zayn asks. If he wasn't intimidated by a room full of hockey players before he certainly is now. 

"Some do, some don't," Liam says, tongue worrying over the scab on his bottom lip. "I'm – not very good at hiding how I feel, I guess." He blushes when he says that, but he smiles too. "They love you, though. I promise."

It's something Zayn has heard Liam say so often that he almost brushes it off like he usually does, but something about the way Liam says it this time makes Zayn pause. 

"Okay, let's do this," Zayn says. Believing Liam is a lot easier than trying to convince himself, but for once Zayn actually feels like he can live this life and own it too, can be the guy everyone sees. He can step into that room and be Liam's dude, he can be his own self as loudly as he wants.

When Liam opens the door Zayn follows him in, side-by-side. There's no great hush, no huge drawing in of breath, in fact it seems like only Niall and Louis have noticed that they've returned to the party. Zayn isn't sure what to do but Liam saves him the trouble; very carefully he links his little finger with Zayn's, the two of them holding on to each other by one tiny link that feels as strong as forged steel. 

"Jesus!" Niall shouts, standing up and grabbing for his crutches so he can make his way across the room to them. "Finally! I didn't know how much more of that I could bear. I'm shit at keeping secrets."

That's just the way it happens. No huge shock from everyone, just a laugh and a grin. It makes Zayn smile, reminding him of their conversation: is something going to change? Niall is the proof that, no, nothing needs to change.

Louis grabs Harry's wrist and whispers something to him, something that makes Harry's face light up. Zayn already knows that they're going to be insufferable about this, and he's incredibly glad he has Liam to suffer with him. 

"What's up, boys?" Louis says, raising one eyebrow slyly. "Zayn, you missed a button there."

"Fuck you," Zayn says lovingly, giving a weak punch to Louis' shoulder.

"Are we all back, then?" Harry asks, crowding in on Zayn and Liam too. "All of us?"

"The whole team," Liam says, looking over at Zayn. 

"Stronger than ever," Louis says, sotto voce. Zayn has heard Louis use this tone of voice before, soft and sincere and loving, always when he feels the need to say something important. Louis might seem to be all bristles and smirks but Zayn knows that there's always this kid underneath, this boy who joins their circle and puts his arms around Zayn and Harry in a tight hug. 

This has always existed, the five of them a tight group, their inner circle and then the wider group of the other boys on the team. Zayn can't even count the number of times they've drawn in together like this – celebrating Harry's early acceptance to Ryerson, hugging Niall when he came out of the hospital with his broken leg, commiserating with Louis when he broke down taking about how his parents were divorcing – but it always means the same: we are together, we are here, we're not going anywhere, we are on each other's team.

"What are you guys celebrating?" one of the hockey players asks.

Zayn laughs and looks at Liam. Zayn can hear a voice inside him telling him to be nervous, or anxious, or afraid, but it's somehow so easy to ignore. Not because he has Liam now, not because of the boys surrounding him, but because Zayn kind of almost believes that he may be good enough, Canadian enough, brave enough.

"What are we celebrating?" Zayn asks. 

"Well. The team, isn't it?" Louis looks at Zayn and nods slowly, sharing a smile with him. "Sudbury Wolves!" Louis suddenly shouts, and the whole team gets behind it instantly.

Red solo cups held in the air, a little drunk and a lot happy, the rest of the team crowds in on their little circle. Zayn and Liam are right in the middle of it, this group of burly boys with their chipped teeth and sweaty, beery smell cheering in a circle, congratulating Liam and Zayn even though they don't know why, celebrating this tiny moment like they just won the cup.

Zayn has heard it a lot of times, being told he's part of the team over and over for the last few months, but it's never really sunk in. It's only now, when Zayn raises his voice and hears his name roared by the team like he scored the winning goal, when Liam grips his hand tight and laughs against his shoulder, that Zayn actually feels like a wolf in this pack.

*

Liam is an early riser, a habit he no doubt grew into because of all those 5 a.m. practices he went to as a kid. A light sleeper, Zayn wakes up as he feels Liam roll out of bed. Even though he's dead tired and wants nothing more than to share a few more hours in bed with Liam, Zayn really doesn't want to miss another morning where they can brush their teeth side by side like always.

When they put on their winter coats to make the short walk to a nearby McDonalds the sky has only just started to take on the paleness of dawn, a ghostly white sigh on the horizon. They're both in sweatpants and wearing toques, but Zayn somehow forgot his mittens. When they step out of the empty lobby and into the fresh air Liam takes off his left mitt and hands it over to Zayn. They walk together, one hand in their pockets and the other gripped tight together.

There's something so nice and clean about winter mornings, the sun blanched almost silver in the February air, a glow that picks up the bright white of the snow and does nothing for the harsh chill. It's a crisp kind of cold that seems to bring out the sharp details of the world like 20/20 vision. It's a cold that makes Zayn swear and brings out slashes of red in Liam's cheeks, it's a cold that gets them walking briskly as their hands grip tighter for warmth.

The McDonalds is empty except for them, standing back from the cash registers so they can see the menu. Zayn keeps yawning, giving the morning a stretched out feeling, somehow both hyper-real and dreamy at the same time. It's a tiredness that prickles behind his eyes, rough in his throat because he hasn't had his first cigarette of the day. Zayn leans his weight against Liam's shoulder and mumbles "hash browns, lots of hash browns" as he tries to keep his eyes open.

It's like the whole world is their own. Scrubbed clean by the winter wind and the starkness of the sun, only a few cars passing them belching clouds of white smoke, it's as if this morning was given just for them to enjoy together. It's all simple little pleasures: the murky blackness of their coffees they sip carefully, the pile of hash browns they get through together, contagious yawns they get from one another, barely saying a word.

The ice on the sidewalks is as shiny as a mirror, reflecting the sky as just the softest pinks and oranges start to bleed into the white. Salt and slush cakes to their boots as they walk back to the hotel with a big bag of breakfast for the other boys to eat. Zayn is half-asleep as they make their way back, but he tries to pick out these little things so he can keep them for later.

They're lucky, like they somehow snuck in before the world has a chance to wake up, like they get a chance to be together before the first full day of this change in their lives begins. For the last few months Zayn has been terrified of any change happening between him and Liam, but now that he knows they'll take it on together it hardly even bothers him to think about. There will be people to deal with, family and friends and the coach and the rest of the team, but for now they get their exhausted little morning to do with as they want. 

And they do. Hand in hand, another coffee they share back and forth, a long and tired kiss before Zayn pulls Liam back into bed and they fall asleep again.

*

The drive back to Sudbury is long and exhausted, everyone so hungover that there's barely a noise other than the droning of the wheels on the road and _Remember the Titans_ playing quietly on a never-ending loop.

Zayn isn't hungover, but it's so much easier to pretend he is. Tucking his head on Liam's shoulder, closing his eyes even thought sleep doesn't come, picking at the leftover egg McMuffins that the other boys didn't want. Everyone seems sated by the win, smiling as they glance from one another even as they nurse terrible headaches and upset stomachs. Even Zayn gets some smiles, and he isn't sure if it's just because of their last-minute win back in Ottawa or if they know or suspect something about Liam, but it's enough to warm Zayn's blood.

He smiles back, and he remembers Liam's promise: they love you, I love you. It has never felt truer, because Zayn has never loved this team more than he does now.

*

Louis wanted to have a big party for Niall finally getting his cast removed, a big welcome back bash for their goalie's wounded leg. It was early in the planning stages, Zayn already tasked with getting a cheerleading squad and a bottle of Dom Perignon and an ice sculpture, but Niall talks him down before Louis gets really out of hand.

"Just us, I think," Niall says as the five of them leave school together on the first Friday evening after Niall is officially back on two legs. He pats Louis' shoulder. "You get to decide what we do though, all right?"

"Not skating," Zayn says immediately, smiling as they laugh. "Anything but skating."

"We could go back to my place and watch the Olympics," Liam suggests with a shrug. 

"Not good enough," Louis says. He puts his arm around Niall's shoulders and kisses the side of his head. "We need something bigger for our boy."

"Settlers of Catan?" Harry suggests.

Louis groans. "Bigger, man!"

"Vodka and sledding," Zayn says suddenly. Everyone turns to look at him. "There's that hill behind St. James. I've got some vodka left from the last party. We could go sledding." The four boys stare at him intensely, making Zayn feel like he said something incredibly stupid. "I don't know, it's just a thought."

"I thank God for Zayn daily," Louis says, putting his hands together in mock prayer. "Vodka and sledding. Incredible. Perfect. How about it?"

"Absolutely," Niall says eagerly, giving Zayn a big grin. He even does a little dance, a hop and a skip to show off his new mobility. "You're a legend, man."

"I thought you didn't like the cold," Liam says quietly with an irritating smile. They're far enough away from the school that he slides his hand against Zayn's and laces their fingers together. "You sure seem to like being in it, man."

"Whatever," Zayn says, bumping his hip against Liam's. "The spectator sees more of the game, I guess."

Piling into Liam's truck is a lot easier without Niall's cast and crutches. They make the usual round of stops, each of them dropping off their school bag at home and returning with a sled under their arm. They've got childish ones in bright colours, Harry's classic old wooden toboggan, Niall with three simple plastic crazy carpets that leave you spinning and flailing as you slide down the hill, all of it so perfectly immature. It gets them all laughing like they've smoked a joint, giggly and young and looking at the new duvet of fresh snow like something they can destroy, a sandcastle they can stomp like Godzilla. 

The hill is nearest to Zayn's house and they all bail out of the truck as Zayn nips inside to tell his parents where he's going. He doesn't own any sleds but his contribution is the most important: two mickeys of vodka, the cheap kind that comes in plastic bottles, smuggled out under his coat.

It's a nice night for it, even Zayn will admit that much. Cold without being painful, the kind that pinks their cheeks and noses. There's a sharp, clean smell in the air that comes with fresh snow, like copper kettles and the balls of yarn Zayn's mother keeps in the linen closet, a smell of childhood. Strange that snow has a smell but it really does, and when Zayn looks over at Liam he can see him take deep breaths of it in through his nose, a breath of fog as he lets go between his lips. They smile at each other, and Zayn knows Liam must be thinking the same thing.

They march to the hill together, walking side by side in their jeans and big winter jackets, the crunch of their boots on the ice matching the rustle as their coats rub against one another, shoulder to shoulder. It's like stepping back in time to when Zayn's dad used to tug him around in his plastic sled, or when the huge ice storm got him off school for two weeks when he was nine and he spent that time slipping and sliding around his back garden with Liam. Every step Zayn takes brings him further back until he can't help laughing a little, grinning back and forth between Liam and the other boys.

Did that kid know he would one day grow up to fall in love with Liam? Looking back, Zayn likes to think maybe he did know, because even then he knew Liam was different than anyone else, craved his attention, grinned until his cheeks hurt when he came up with something that made Liam laugh. It took some time to translate that love into simple English, but Zayn is pretty sure it was there the whole time.

They all stop to look at the snow-covered hill before trying to climb it. It's a clean white mountain against the dark backdrop of the sky, the silver pepper of the stars standing out like bright freckles. It's beautiful and ordinary.

Zayn can see Liam light up when he looks around the place, taking it all in. It's the joy of a kid, making him look so young and unworried. It reminds Zayn of the way Liam looks when he sleeps, soft and open and calm. It reminds him of the years of winter they've had together, all the long walks to school and hot chocolate at Liam's house when they got home in the afternoon, all the times Liam has shoved snow down the back of Zayn's jacket, and all the times Zayn whacked him in the face with snowballs only to watch the snow melt on his eyelashes and lips.

It's a friendship that became habitual, being with Liam as automatic and necessary as breakfast in the morning and doing homework in the evening, the two of them spending so much time together that the routine of Zayn's life became forever knotted with Liam's. 

"Are we sure this is a good idea?" Harry asks. "If my dad finds out I busted our goalie's leg three days after he got out of his cast I'm a dead man." Harry thinks about it for a second. "No, he'll kill me even if you don't break your leg."

"Aww," Niall says. "You're sweet, man. You don't need to worry, though."

"I'm not worrying," Harry mumbles. "Just thinking about the, uh, the team."

"You're worrying," Louis says.

"Am not," Harry says, and even in the darkness his cheeks seem to glow.

"You are," Zayn adds. "You worry, that's what you do."

"No," Harry says quietly. "Not – I mean, kinda, but –"

"We know," Liam says. "We know, babe."

"Well," Harry mutters.

"It's what you do, man," Louis says fond and funny. "You don't need to apologise."

Zayn needs to look at Liam then, catch his eye. Liam must have been thinking the same thing because when he looks up from the ground he stares right at Zayn. They don't say a word but Zayn needs Liam to know, just from his smile and his eyes, that this isn't a mistake. Harry worried about them, Niall worried about them, Louis worried about them, but there's nothing left to be afraid of now. Zayn wants to make sure Liam knows that this isn't a fluke, that this didn't come from nowhere, this has been happening all their lives.

Liam gives him a little nod that Zayn returns. It's a battle cry in the simplest of gestures, gleaming armour in just a smile. Their lives will change, that's inevitable with University and the team and fucking life, but with that easy nod they both throw down their hockey gloves and take off their helmets and ball their fists at their sides, ready to stand side by side and take a hundred penalties for fighting.

"Okay, so I worry!" Harry says, throwing his arms in the air. "I don't want any of you to get hurt, is that a crime?"

They instantly form into another circle, all of them surrounding Harry and reaching in to hug him. It might be sarcastic, it might be just to make Harry groan and smile, but it's as real as any other instance they've come together like this. Each time it's like they're tightening the strings of their friendship, weaving the fabric closer and closer until it's Kevlar, until there's no stray end to untangle like a Christmas sweater. Even as they laugh and poke at Harry's sides, it seems to mean everything.

"Come with me," Niall says, grabbing Harry's arm as the group hug falls apart again. "We'll go down together, all right?"

"All right," Harry says, seemingly satisfied with that arrangement.

After that, it's a race up the hill. Liam is holding his sled with one hand and grabs Zayn with the other. The snow is a foot deep and hard to run in and they exhaust themselves doing it, but they never stop pushing. Zayn can feel his heart thumping loud and hot in his throat and ears and he gets that weird mix of feeling sweaty and cold, but he can't help but laugh as he runs. 

Louis and Harry breakaway from the pack, leading their race up the hillside. Zayn impulsively wants to beat Louis but he knows Liam is holding back to make sure Niall makes it up okay, and Zayn realises he really doesn't mind losing because of it.

"Need – vodka –" Louis is gasping by the time Zayn, Liam, and Niall make it to the top a minute later. "Please – Zayn –"

Zayn laughs and tosses him one of the bottles. Louis twists the cap off and takes a quick swig, grimacing as he swallows. "That'll keep us warm," he says before handing to bottle off to Harry. "Like that dude in Titanic."

"He – froze to death," Zayn says, crouching over with his hands on his knees as he tries to catch his breath. "It just – makes you – _feel_ warmer."

"To feeling warmer," Niall says, taking the bottle off Harry and taking a swallow from it. Always proud of how well he can hold his alcohol, Niall smacks his lips with satisfaction and gives a great _ahh_ of pleasure.

Zayn is next in line, taking the bottle from Niall and swallowing three quick mouthfuls of the vodka. It's both fiery and cold at the same time, chilling his mouth but burning his throat and stomach as he swallows. Zayn shivers a little from the taste, but he takes another sip anyway.

"Liam?" Zayn asks gently. "Wanna join?" He doesn't expect Liam to accept the offer but, like everything in Zayn's life, he immediately wants to share it with Liam anyway.

Liam looks curiously at the bottle Zayn is holding out for him. "I dunno, I drove here –"

"So, sleep over at my place tonight," Zayn says. "My dad misses you, he always tells me to bring you over."

" _Ooh_ ," Louis says, nudging Harry in the ribs as they both laugh.

"Fuck you, and fuck you," Zayn says, jabbing a finger in the middle of Louis' chest. "I only love Niall."

"He only loves me," Niall says proudly, puffing out his chest.

"Well," Zayn says, laughing and kicking his shoe in the snow. "Like, not as much as, like. You know who. But you can be number two, Niall."

" _Oooooh_ ," Louis says again, a long foggy breath as he exhales. 

"I'll take second place," Niall says, nodding thoughtfully. "I'm fine with second."

"Can I be three?" Harry asks.

Zayn looks at Liam, a playful light flickering between them as they nod slowly in unison. "Yeah, you can be three."

"Ugh, I thought parents weren't supposed to choose favourites," Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

"Oh, come on," Zayn says, knowing Louis' petulant frown and playing into it. "What if we started planning that toga party you always wanted to do?" Zayn asks slowly, nudging Louis in the ribs. "What if I told you my cousin can score us some amazing weed?" Louis is still frowning but he slowly comes around. "What if I helped you prank that asshole from bio class?"

"For real?" Louis asks, losing his swagger and brightening like the sun coming through the clouds. "You'd help me fill his locker with shaving cream?"

"I'll even pay for it all," Zayn continues, loving how he knows exactly which buttons to press to get Louis to smile just like that. "And I think I know how to get his combination, too."

Louis beams. "God, I love you."

The weight of Liam's gaze is almost physical, Zayn can feel it even as he's talking to Louis. When he turns around to look at him, Liam is grinning with a look of such utter fondness Zayn almost feels embarrassed, instantly making him think that he doesn't deserve to have someone look at him like that. 

"Okay, let's fucking do this," Liam says, and he takes the bottle from Zayn's slack fingers and takes a long draw of vodka. He swallows it and almost looks pleased with himself for a second before he starts coughing.

"Holy shit," Niall says. "Liam! Shit! Buddy! That was amazing!"

Liam grimaces as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's – really disgusting."

"No one drinks it for the taste," Louis says, but he looks immensely proud of Liam. "Damn. Nice one, man."

"You okay?" Zayn murmurs, reaching over to hold Liam's free hand. He can't stop grinning though. "We're just kidding around, man."

The next swig Liam takes is longer, and he doesn't cough. "No, this is – man. I feel good. I feel really good right now. I feel so good with you right now." Zayn blushes and he knows Louis is laughing silently behind his mitt but Zayn doesn't give a shit. He knows exactly what Liam means by that, and he leans in to leave a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth. "You know what I mean?" Liam asks, still s surprised and delighted that they get to kiss like that.

"I do," Zayn says. "I really do."

There have been so many nights like this, but none that ever felt this beautiful. Just the five of them standing on top of their tiny world, at the peak of an icy hill with the stars glinting like silver in black sand, the fiery breath of vodka in their mouths. It's the glorious feeling of not worrying about school or the team or even tomorrow. Nothing to think about than the joy of each other.

This is all Zayn needs, just tonight with all its dumb decisions and shared sleds and fields of snow. Just his hand clasped with Liam's, a touch so simple it's almost automatic now, but meaning so much more than just two kids in a small Canadian city in the middle of nowhere. They hold hands like conquerors, like a victory over the cold as they spark a tiny flame between their fingers, cupping it against the winter wind like a lit match. 

It feels like they've beaten something though Zayn doesn't know what. Some dark cloud, some stalking monster or violent hockey team, the punches they've taken tasting almost sweet on their lips when they kiss. It's incredible how everything in their lives seems so unchanged, but Zayn knows, just in this one feeling on invincibility, that nothing will be the same. 

And he's so fucking glad.

"Sledding!" Niall shouts.

"Sledding," Louis and Harry agree.

"Sledding?" Zayn asks Liam.

"Sledding," Liam agrees.

Niall and Harry go down together on the lone toboggan, Niall sitting behind Harry and holding on tight as Louis pushes them off. They go down like a comet, a blaze of white snow thrown up in rooster tails behind them. Niall's whoops and shouts echo against the flat wall of the dark forest that surrounds them like a bowl, the pitch of his voice dropping the further they go. 

"Get a _roooom_ ," Louis shouts at Liam and Zayn as he goes barrelling after Niall and Harry, grabbing onto one of the crazy carpets and sliding down on his stomach with his legs kicking out wildly behind him. He follows Niall and Harry's path perfectly, charging after them like a jetplane in a dogfight and smashing into the backs of Harry's legs as he tries to stand up. They go down together in a puff of snow, and Zayn can hear them laughing from the top of the hill.

"Idiots," Zayn says softly. 

"What a team," Liam says as they watch Niall jump onto Louis' back and dragging him back down to the ground while Harry, sprawled out beside them, starts to make snow angels.

"So, pilot or co-pilot?" Zayn asks, holding up their red plastic sled.

"I wanna be your co-pilot," Liam says. He sets the half-empty bottle of vodka in a pile of snow and steps in behind Zayn. He gets into the sled first, spreading his legs in a V to give Zayn room to sit down. 

Zayn settles down between Liam's legs and leans back into him. Liam's chest is hard and warm, even through the layers of their jackets, and he holds on to Zayn tightly like he's afraid of what might happen if he lets go. It's like the time they went skating together, but this time it's Liam clinging to Zayn and holding on for dear life, this time it's Zayn who grins and faces the disaster head-on.

Before they set off, Zayn twists around to kiss Liam. Liam meets him halfway, leaning over his shoulder to catch his lips in a cool, dry kiss. His breath is heavy with vodka and sweet from the hot chocolate he had during last period at school. 

The best part about kissing Liam now is how it doesn't need to mean anything. Zayn isn't declaring any big love and they're not really having a touching moment, it's just a kiss for the sake of kissing. It's a kiss like a good book by the fire, something indulgent and sweet that fades immediately as they pull apart, Zayn still smiling knowing he'll have hundreds of other meaningless moments as good as this. 

"Ready?" Zayn asks.

"Always," Liam says.

"Whatever you do, don't let go," Zayn says.

Liam is quiet for a second, and when he replies Zayn can hear the smile changing the shape of his words. "Never."

Using his legs like ski poles Zayn kicks and drags their sled to the event horizon of the hill, that tipping point before gravity takes them. With one final kick he pushes off and they go speeding down the hill.

Cold wind slaps Zayn in the face and he shouts into it, feeling the cold in his mouth as they go racing towards the ground. Snow gets thrown up in front of them, caught in Zayn's hair and stinging on his cheeks like bits of gravel. The rush of it is consuming, the wind and the snow and the speed of it, but even as Zayn loses himself to the adrenaline and the joy he can feel Liam's arms get tighter around his stomach, can hear him shouting, too.

They hit something, a chunk of ice or a mound of hard snow and go flying off their sled just as they hit the bottom of the hill. Zayn goes rolling wildly away while Liam falls clumsily on top of him, both of them with their legs in the air and their arms tangled up. A hard red bruise aches on Zayn's hip and his chest feels crushed from where Liam's lying on him and Zayn can't stop laughing. 

"Ow, fuck," Zayn says, wriggling under Liam. The vodka in his stomach hasn't settled right, keeps burning him from the inside, a heat that Zayn feels come out in his cheeks and lips.

"Shit," Liam groans. He's lying on top of Zayn, keeping him buried down in the fluffy snow, and when he pulls the hood from his face Liam is grinning down at him. "That was amazing."

"I think I broke something," Zayn groans, but he can't help return the grin. Cold drops of water, the snow melting and dripping from the tip of Liam's nose, land on Zayn's mouth. Zayn licks his lips, tasting it cold and salty. He's happy, so happy he doesn't even know what to do with himself. Even the aches and pains feel good, numbed by the vodka, bright wounds he'll be able to admire in the mirror later and remember as having been from another night of doing stupid things with Liam.

"You okay?" Liam says. His mittens are caked in snow and he pulls one off with his teeth. His hand is so warm as he brushes it against Zayn's cheek, cleaning melting snow from his burning skin. 

Zayn nods slowly. "I'm perfect."

"I thought you didn't like winter?" Liam says again, not taunting this time but gentle and curious.

"No, I don't like it," Zayn says. Being under Liam like this, under his shadow with his grin only inches away and his weight keeping Zayn pinned down is surreal. It's impossible to imagine that this could have happened, could be happening.

Zayn has spent so much of the last few months analysing and over-thinking everything to do with his relationship with Liam, worried that when they touched he might seem _too_ into it, trying in vain to behave normally even when his heart started beating like a drum roll and all these thoughts of being with Liam started to cloud his mind with shame. Tonight though, tonight there's nowhere else Zayn would rather be. 

"Really?" Liam asks. "Even now?" 

"Yeah, but, like, it's enough for me that you love it. I love that you love it," Zayn says simply, just a small smile like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I love how you love things."

"You're amazing," Liam whispers. 

Three weeks ago Zayn wouldn't have known how to answer that. Now, though, now he has all these words in his mind and pressed on his lips that make him strong: _lucky to have you_ , his dad told him; _amazing friend_ , Niall told him; _thank God for you daily_ , Louis said as he beamed at Zayn; _on our team_ , Harry never let Zayn forget; _love you_ , his mum said; _brave_ Liam whispered. 

Zayn still isn't sure what he did to deserve this, but he realises he doesn't really need to know. It's enough to love himself, it's enough to let himself be loved, it's enough to love Liam. The rest is just paperwork.

Liam gives a little laugh. "You ever do that thing where you say a word so often it begins to sound weird?"

"Love, love, love, love, love," Zayn says. "Seriously, what's up with that?"

"The feeling is still there though," Liam says quietly. "Even though the word doesn't make any sense."

"Fuck it, we don't need the word," Zayn says. Liam has always fit under a different definition, meant something so much more important than anything to do with _love_ , and it's never been more true than now. Even with nothing to name it – not boyfriends, not lovers, not friends – Zayn knows that this is the most important thing he's ever had in his life.

"You're totally right," Liam says, his mouth getting closer now. "Let's stop talking for a bit."

It starts as kiss but it quickly breaks up into laughter and fistfuls of snow. They shove snowballs down the backs of their shirts, and their jeans are stiff with the chill, and everything is cold but their mouths. They roll around together in the snow and try to pin each other down. Liam must be holding back, because Zayn crawls on top of him three or four times, even manages to grab his wrists and hold them tight to the ground as he gloats over him. 

Louis and Harry are already helping Niall get up the hill for another toboggan run, but Liam and Zayn stay at the bottom of the hill in their winter mess, fighting and laughing and kissing each other as the snow melts to water between their lips.

End.


End file.
